When you ask me to give you love, in what shape do I present it to you? Or what object is the better representation that I may give it to you, my brother? I try and think of the presents I’ve given you over the years, at birthdays, at Christmas, but I remember more the donuts and cans of soft drinks we bought at servos, the hot chips from the takeaway joint down the street, and in doing so I have a better understanding of you and how we related to each other. I argued for the profundity of literature and language; you argued for the profundity of the saw and the hammer. We built our worlds within these frameworks and admired each other’s handiwork without truly understanding it and entertained one another with suggestions of how to manage the interior design. Your birthday is coming up next month and I want to buy you something but the dead cannot accept the gift. Maybe I’ll go for a kebab and keep the torn pieces of foil and add them to the sculpture of your soul.
A Fullness in Brevity - Adam Byatt 