Do I really have to find a word for it? Can't it just be what it is?

You went and broke our lives. You are so much worse than a cheater. You killed something. And you killed it when its back was turned.

The secret to living long is to have something to live for.

In school, the year was the marker. Fifth grade. Senior year of high school. Sophomore year of college. Then after, the jobs were the marker. That office. This desk. But now that school is over and I've been working at the same place in the same office at the same desk for longer than I can truly believe, I realize: You have become the marker. This is your era. And it's only if it goes on and on that will have to look for other ways to identify the time.

The unwarranted devotion. Putting up with the fear of being with the wrong person because you can't deal with the fear of being alone. The hope tinged with doubt, and the doubt tinged with hope. Every time I see these feelings in someone else's face, it weighs me down.

She is carrying herself through the day, and it’s not an easy task.

Moments into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into days. Days into years. Years into possibility. This will linger.