The world, right now, is only us.

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

And I find myself saying, “It wasn’t really about her.” And finding it’s true. What do you mean?” Norah asks. It was about the feeling, you know? She caused it in me, but it wasn’t about her. It was about my reaction, what I wanted to feel and then convinced myself that I felt, because I wanted it that bad. That illusion. It was love because I created it as love.

She transforms once again into someone carefree, and I transform into someone whose only care is her.

When the shock wears off, you always hope there's understanding underneath.

We always see our worst selves. Our most vulnerable selves. We need someone else to get close enough to tell us we’re wrong. Someone we trust.

Dullness is the spice of life. Which is why we must always use other spices.