It's as if he can no longer acknowledge the love he felt or the pain I am in. I have been dismissed. I don't think I was smarter or as beautiful as the other girls he did this to. It's just that I was me. It was all I had.

Every fear, every night terror, every hour I cried for Liev, every fight with Sebastian is registered as a neat white scar.

You can have this kind of love. You can have it. You just grab it. Of course the problem with having that love is that you can lose it, too.

Cyndi Lauper was hilarious and generous, someone I'd loved from childhood who didn't disappoint.

I finally accept that not only do I not understand the death of my relationship, but I do not need to. These men were good and kind to me, they loved me and I loved them back and the shock at the finish holds no wisdom. The revelation is not that I lost them, but that I had them.

I'm not crazy or dangerous, just a bit eccentric and lonely.

I don't see what's so good about being genuine. Clog dancing is genuine. Isn't being fake more of an achievement? At least it takes some inspiration. Like, sherbet dips, they're a special food. Think of all the additives and coloring and grinding that it takes to create a sherbet dip. But carrots? They're just out there, shrieking, "Hi, we're some carrots! Love us for it!" They never have to prove themselves.