You are not going to die, I know I said I'd let you, but I can't.

Lena was an introvert. She knew she had trouble connecting with people. She always felt like her looks were fake bait, seeming to offer a bridge to people, which she couldn't easily cross.

But it was smell that carried memory.

I killed her once and died for her many times and I still have nothing to show for it. I always search for her ; I always remember her. I carry the hope that someday she will remember me.

Lena realized that a fundamental layer of their happiness depended on the four of them being close to one another. Their lives were independent and full. Their friendship was only one aspect of their lives, but it seemed to give meaning to all the others.

To write a story, I think you really have to open yourself up to the world.

You surround yourself with your pain or you avoid it and let it find you when you are trying to do other things