Each spine was an encapsulated memory, each book represented hours, days of pleasure, of immersion into words.

It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.

The pain has left but I know that it has not gone far, that it is sulking somewhere in a corner or under the bed and it will jump out when I least expect it.

I sometimes end up in dangerous situations, and I come back to you broken and messed up, and you worry about me when I'm gone. It's like marrying a policeman.

I place my hands over her ears and tip her head back, and kiss her, and try to put my heart into hers, for safekeeping, in case I lose it again.

My reflection in the mirror shows me pink and puffy. I thought pregnant women were to supposed to glow. I am not glowing.

I look at him, look at the book, remember, this book, this moment, the first book I ever loved