Trying to write about love is ultimately like trying to have a dictionary represent life. No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough.

No, really,' I said. 'I think she's great. And I honestly like her about twenty more times now than I did when we were dating. But love needs to have a future. And Sofia and I don't have a future. We've just had a good time sharing the present, that's all.

I barely notice colors unless I taste them. Not the yellows or the greens. I taste the deeper blues. The darker reds.

It’s as simple as that. Simple and complicated, as most true things are.

That lasting things do, in fact, last.

I want to write my life. I want to be able to write my life. You are a second away from saying it. You have no idea how much I love you.

I had gotten so used to being alone, but never entirely used to it. Never used to it enough to stop wanting the alternative.