That's what alcoholics do. It's in their job description: fall apart and then keep falling apart.

The choices we’re working with here are a block universe, where past, present and future all coexist simultaneously and everything has already happened; chaos, where anything can happen and nothing can be predicted because we can’t know all the variables; and a Christian universe in which God made everything and it’s all here for a purpose but we have free will anyway.

Everything seems simple until you think about it.

I breathe slowly and deeply. I make my eyes still under eyelids, I make my mind still, and soon, Sleep, seeing a perfect reproduction of himself, comes to be united with his facsimile.

We laugh and laugh, and nothing can ever be sad, no one can be lost, or dead, or far away: right now we are here, and nothing can mar our perfection, or steal the joy of this perfect moment.

It’s dark now and I am very tired. I love you, always. Time is nothing.

Henry loves my hair almost as though it is a creature unto itself, as though it has a soul to call its own, as though it could love him back.