Time constricts and flattens, you know. It's not evenly weighted. Certain moments linger in the mind and others disappear.

I know too much; I've seen people at their worst, at their most desperate and selfish, and this knowledge makes me wary. So I am learning to pretend, to smile, to nod, to display empathy I do not feel. I am learning to pass, to look like everyone else, even though I feel broken inside.

I love you," he writes again and again. "I can't bear to live without you. I'm counting the minutes until I see you." The words he uses are the idioms of popular songs and poems in the newspaper. And mine to him are no less cliched. I puzzle over the onionskin, trying to spill my heart onto the page. But I can only come up with the same words, in the same order, and hope the depth of feeling beneath them gives them weight and substance. I love you. I miss you. Be careful. Be safe.

I like the assumption that everyone is trying his best, and we should all just be kind to each other.

It's human nature to want to think the best of others, but if you listen carefully, people will always tell you who they are.

One of the wonderful things about being a writer is that you're constantly dredging up some arcane knowledge or long-forgotten experience, rediscovering old passions and interests.

Time constricts and flattens, you know. It's not evenly weighted. Certain moments linger in the mind and others disappear.