Sometimes I miss the old me.

Love can make us do dreadful things.

I imagine the ones we’ve lost as ghosts who prowl about the edges of the light, waiting for us to join them. Sometimes that’s terrifying, and sometimes it’s reassuring, a promise of homecoming.

You don’t know what it’s like to be alone until you’ve had someone inside your head.

Did he die well?" No, I thought. Nobody did. They just died.

Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth for the other. Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other. Now you are two persons, but there are three lives before you: His life, Her Life, and Your life together.

He's never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.