I would have spoken, had my heart not been in my throat

I don’t know why we do it. But sometimes we just swim straight for the net.

Sometimes you build up these walls, you build and you build and you build up these walls and you think they’re so strong, but then someone can come along and tip them over with only his fingers, or the weight of his breath.

You can hold a secret, hold it so far in that it drives nearly every thought and every move you make- your very heartbeat, almost.

Because that’s how it works after something terrible has happened. You know this is true if something terrible has ever happened to you. A thousand objects take on new meaning. Everything is a reminder of something else.

A person could leave you so quickly. So much history and time and memories, but they snuck away from you, and other things took their place. How could you hold on? Wait. A bigger question. The biggest. How could you hold on and let go?

I could forget that part, but it had to have been true.