It's okay if you want to go. Everyone wants you to stay. I want you to stay more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. But that's what I want and I could see why it might not be what you want. So I just wanted to tell you that I understand if you go. It's okay if you have to leave us. It's okay if you want to stop fighting.

Then the musical instruments appeared. Dad’s snare drum from the house, Henry’s guitar from his car, Adam’s spare guitar from my room. Everyone was jamming together, singing songs: Dad’s songs, Adam’s songs, old Clash songs, old Wipers songs. Teddy was dancing around, the blond of his hair reflecting the golden flames. I remember watching it all and getting that tickling in my chest and thinking to myself: This is what happiness feels like.

You don’t share me. You own me.

Something special is ending, and you're sad, but you can't be that said because, hey, it was good while it lasted, and there'll be other vacations, other good times.

Sleep would be so welcome. A warm blanket of black to erase everything else. Sleep without dreams.

Life is a big fat gigantic stinking mess, that's the beauty of it, too.

Do you do that a lot? Move on?" "Maybe. But only because I travel a lot." She taps put a beat on the steering wheel, audible only to herseld. "Or maybe you travel a lot because it lets you move on." "Perhaps." ........ I look out the window. The jungle is everywhere. I look back at her. "Can you move on from something when you're not sure what it is you're moving on from?