How does one speak the unspeakable? How be one so familiarly intimate with the inexpressible as to give the inexpressible expression? How does one grow to write like Ocean Vuong? Witness page sixty-two:

There is so much I want to tell you, Ma. I was once foolish enough to believe knowledge would clarify, but some things are so gauzed behind layers of syntax and semantics, behind days and hours, names forgotten, salvaged and shed, that simply knowing the wound exists does nothing to reveal it.

I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess what I mean is that sometimes I don’t know what or who we are. Days I feel like a human being, while other days I feel more like a sound. I touch the world not as myself but as an echo of who I was. Can you hear me yet? Can you read me?

Read it and read you. On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong.