Maybe that's what happens with age, I thought. All your life you force yourself to forget people who have hurt you, but as you get older and weaker their memory surfaces again, like a bubble in the water. You have to surrender, because you feel to tired to fight it and push it down again. And maybe, unexpectedly, you find out that instead, of revamping your anger, those memories produce an unexpected sweetness.

Love sometimes makes people ruthless in a way that not even hatred can.

What kind of heart does one have to have in order to be able to get rid of these, without regret, as if they were empty beer cans?

I can't say why some memories float and other sink.

I had fallen out of my secure world, precipitated beyond the territories I had only begun to control so skillfully. What a foolish step to take. What an insane move to make.

Suddenly it all seemed luminously clear. Love had very little to do with fear and emotional sabotage; love had to do with trust.

A first kiss is the demarcation line: the same information that a moment ago felt private, all of a suddens seems unfair to withhold. And with that exchange came more.