She felt like parts of her soul were missing, had left her body long ago. It had happened not in Greece three months ago, but long before that. It was in Greece that she'd realized those parts had left her and were not coming back.

He'd pushed her. He'd scared her. He'd besieged her. He'd vowed he wouldn't, and he did.

All I could think to do was love her. That's all a person can do.

Healing wasn’t always the best thing. Sometimes a hole was better left open. Sometimes it healed too thick and too well and left separate pieces fused and incompetent. And it was harder to reopen after that.

There was love expressed in the places you usually forget to look.

All my life, everybody has seen me a certain way. What do you see?

Carmen was bad at loving. She loved too hard.