I can see that the sadness has returned. And it's not a beautiful sadness- beautiful sadness is a myth. Sadness turns our features to clay, not porcelain.

This, I think, is how people survive: Even when horrible things have been done to us, we can still find gratitude in one another.

The older you get, the wiser you are - this is true. But you also question what use this wisdom is.y

You are so close, and I can’t reach you.

Here," she said. "This is for you." "I didn't really get you anything," I sputtered. "I mean, I didn't know that you were going to be here, and--" "Don't worry. It's your embarrassment at not having the thought that counts.

It's you. You deserve this. There is a reason this is happening to you.

We could call you an ambisexual. A duosexual. A—” “Do I really have to find a word for it?” Kyle interrupts. “Can’t it just be what it is?” “Of course,” I say, even though in the bigger world I’m not so sure. The world loves stupid labels. I wish we got to choose our own. We pause for a moment. I wonder if that’s all—if he just needed to say the truth and have it heard. But then Kyle looks at me with unsure eyes and says, “You see, I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.” “Nobody does,” I assure him.