I couldn't tell wether the hole that opened up inside me was from missing you or from the change of season

It was a short one-paragraph item in the morning edition.

I couldn't tell wether the hole that opened up inside me was from missing you or from the change of season

A certain something, he felt, had managed to work its way in through a tiny opening and was trying to fill a blank space inside him. The void was not one that she had made. It had always been there inside him. She had merely managed to shine a special light on it.

This is what it means to live on. When granted hope, a person uses it as fuel, as a guidepost to life. It is impossible to live without hope.

When I am writing, I do not distinguish between the natural and supernatural. Everything seems real. That is my world, you could say.

I could disappear from the face of the earth, and the world would go on moving without the slightest twinge. Things were tremendously complicated, to be sure, but one thing was clear: no one needed me.