Just... ate," M says, frowning at me a little. "Two days...ago." I grab my stomach again. "Feel empty. Feel... dead." He nods. "Marr...iage.

We are where we are, however we got here. What matters is where we go next.

I feel an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation in my lips, tugging them upward. This is... new.

No praise, no blame. Just so.

I notice faint scars on her wrists and forearms, thin lines too symmetrical to be accidents.

I can’t seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present.

I can feel it... the chance to start over, to live right, to love right, to burn up in a fiery cloud and never again be buried in the mud.