We were painting by numbers, starting with the greens. Because that happened to be our favorite color. And this, we figured, had to mean something.

There's no way to release yourself from a memory. It ends when it wants to end, whether it's in a flash or long after you've begged it to stop.

I think they have compatible silences.

Feeling someone else's anger is bad; being left alone is worse.

I wake up thinking of yesterday. The joy is in remembering; the pain is in knowing it was yesterday.

Love weaves itself from hundreds of threads.

How do you commemorate a year? A paper anniversary, but we are the words written down, not the paper.