There are certain qualities of light that blur the years.

First we only want to be seen, but once we’re seen, that’s not enough anymore. After that, we want to be remembered.

No one ever thinks they’re awful, even people who really actually are. It’s some sort of survival mechanism.

If you are the light, if your enemies are darkness, then there’s nothing that you cannot justify. There’s nothing you can’t survive, because there’s nothing that you will not do.

Hell is the absence of the people you long for.

No more Internet. No more social media, no more scrolling through litanies of dreams and nervous hopes and photographs of lunches, cries for help and expressions of contentment and relationship-status updates with heart icons whole or broken, plans to meet up later, pleas, complaints, desires, pictures of babies dressed as bears or peppers for Halloween. No more reading and commenting on the lives of others, and in so doing, feeling slightly less alone in the room. No more avatars.

What I mean to say is, the more you remember, the more you’ve lost.