No way to get away. No way to get away. Little change to sneak away... insanity.

All I can do is lie here, brain turning somersaults. It's nights like these when memories stir, whipping themselves into stiff peaks of pain.

Too much to take in, too much to purge. Why must every memory, once sweet, dead end in such ugliness?

Would I drown saving him?

How could I share the way my heart was breaking when my confessor didn’t believe

I haven't cried since Mom died. I mean, after something like that, what's left to cry about, right? But I let myself cry now. Loss is loss. Doesn't take death to create it. (266)

Living means taking chances. Risks. Playing safe all the time is being dead inside, even if you happen to still be breathing.