I don't know who I am. Or maybe I do know who I am and I just don't want to be her anymore.

I realize then that it's not enough to know what someone is called. You have to know who they are.

She's still beautiful. Not in an obvious Vanessa LeGrande or Byrn Shraeder kind of way. In a quiet way that's always been devastating to me.

The line between true self and feigned self is blurred on all sides. Which I think is a rather handy metaphor for falling in love.

Something given, something taken away. Does it always have to work like that?

He gives me a little shrug, like, of course, why else? And at this point, I really have no right to be surprised by people's capacity for kindness and generosity, but still, I am. I'm floored every time.

I realize it’s not just Willem I’m looking for; it’s Lulu too.