Breathing is hard. When you cry so much, it makes you realize that breathing is hard.

I have learned how to observe, far better than most people observe. I am not blinded by the past or motivated by the future. I focus on the present, because that is where I am destined to live.

That's what it felt like - that if I let a little of the hurt out, it would keep pouring out until I was a deflated balloon of a person, with a big monster of hurt in front of me.

But I had a feeling I wasn't supposed to find her that way. She was not a needle. This was not a haystack. We were people, and people had ways of finding each other.

I think they have compatible silences.

He has no idea how beautiful the ordinary becomes once it disappears.

Why do we feel the need to disconnect in order to connect?