I love this book with all my battered heart and I don’t even care if most of the details were fabricated and it’s not really a memoir because at the end of the day, when I think of James Frey, all I remember is how much his book broke my heart… then mended the pieces back together.
Maybe that’s the common thing about the things – and people – that have captivated us so much. They have the capacity to break us apart and twist us here and there, but they also have the healing power to stitch us back together.
Maybe broken is just another term for beautiful.
Disclaimer: It’s almost midnight, I had a long day, and I don’t really know what I’m saying. (Or do I?)