You forget, time doesn't exist anymore. You gave it to me.

If I stay. If I live. It’s up to me. All this business about medically induced comas is just doctor talk. It’s not up to the doctors. It’s not up to the absentee angels. It’s not even up to God who, if He exists, is nowhere around right now. It’s up to me.

Once the options increase, settling on one becomes harder.

Sacrifice, that's what we do for the people we love.

I'm so tired of missing things I don't have.

Adam is crying and somewhere inside of me I am crying, too, because I'm feeling things at last. I'm feeling not just the physical pain, but all that I have lost, and it is profound and catastrophic and will leave a crater in me that nothing will ever fill.

But seventeen is an inconvenient time to fall in love.