I watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot.

I was right at the edge of their circle, like the tail of a Q...

I knew if I ate anything of hers again, it would lkely tell me the same message: help me, I am not happy, help me -- like a message in a bottle sent in each meal to the eater, and I got it. I got the message.

You can ruin anything if you focus at it.

I felt the crumpled paper that had taken the place of my lungs expand as if released from a fist.

It is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It's the mathematical logic of being alive. If everything kept to its normal progression, we would live with the sadness-cry and then walk-but what really breaks us cleanest are the losses that happen out of order.

I admired that stride; it was like he folded space in two with it.