Love is the higher law.

If you tell me, I will leave you alone," I said. "And if you don't tell me, I am going to grab the nearest ghostwritten James Patterson romance novel and I am going to follow you through this store reading it out loud until you relent. Would you prefer me to read from Daphne's Three Tender Months with Harold or Cindy and John's House of Everlasting Love? I guarantee, your sanity and your indie street cred won't last a chapter. And they are very, very short chapters." Now I could see the fright beneath the defiance.

Every single answer starts with the phrase 'I don't know.' But most of the time she does know, if I give her the time and the space in which to answer.

Life goes on is a redundancy. Life is defined by its going on.

I will be the one to leave you.

But whether or not you are here, you are here—because these words are for you, and they wouldn't exist if you weren't here in some way.

You don't know, but I'm noticing.