Every time someone forgets, someone else disappears,' my brother wrote.

I'm a really eclectic reader.

That was the way love was, invisible, there whether or not you wanted to see it or admit to it.

Our house was littered with books- in the kitchen, under the beds, stuck between the couch pillows--far too many for her the ever finish. I suppose I thought if my grandmother kept up her interests, she wouldn't die; she'd have to stay around to finish the books she was so fond of. "I've got to get to the bottom of this one," she'd say, as if a book were no different from a pond or a lake. I thought she'd go on reading forever but it didn't work out that way.

I have crossed over to a place where I never thought I’d be. I am someone I would have never imagined. A secret. A dream. I am this, body and soul. Burn me. Drown me. Tell me lies. I will still be who I am.

The evening had turned sweet and blue.

It was the sort of beauty you feel so deeply it becomes contagious and somehow makes you feel beautiful too.