Worries find you easily enough without inviting them.
What a generous thing that is, I realize, for a husband to try to make his wife laugh.
I ached once, hard, like a period typed at the end of a sentence.
To pretend to be calm is to be calm, in a way.
I can't think of anything more crushing than slowly, over time, realizing exactly how wrong you were about someone.
Because isn’t that the point of every relationship: to be known by someone else, to be understood? He gets me. She gets me. Isn’t that the simple magic phrase?