I know. So, I was angry with you. I didn't know why. I was angry with the world. I did know why. I hated all my therapists for being useless. I was this little ball of self-destructive fury, and none of them could do anything but tell me that I was a little ball of self-destructive fury. [...] I knew I was angry. Tell me what to do with that anger, please.

How can it be so unclear to her when it's like the fingers on my hand to me?

I know that unlike that night, tonight I won't kiss her. Or touch her. Or even see her up close. Tonight, I'll listen. And that'll be enough.

What would you do if you had to choose?

We are like Humpty Dumpty and all these king's horses and all these king's men cannot put us back together again

It takes certain kind of naiveté, or perhaps just stupidity, to know things will end and still hope otherwise.

I don't really care. I shouldn't have to care. I shouldn't have to work this hard. I realize now that dying is easy. Living is hard.