...the reasons just reassemble themselves in different patterns every time I think about it.

When the dawn light is coursing through the slats in the shutters at last, making thin stripes on the floor, she, tossing, decides that for every human soul there must surely be a possible childhood worth living, but once it slips by, there isn’t any reclaiming it or revising it.

There were people everywhere but no one was mine, and I was no one's.

Indeed, she often wondered if she were dead, or dying from the inside out, and that was the root of her calm, the reason she could surrender her character.

How deeply bound by cords of family anger we all are[...]None of us breaks free.

...I dabble in causes and effects.

Forget us, forget us all, it makes no difference now, but don't forget we loved it when we were alive.