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

In my palm I can feel the echo of her pulse, standing in for the absense of mine.

That's why we have memory. And the opposite of memory— hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can built off our pasts and make future.

It's rare that I read more than two or three books by any one author, usually only one.

Sometimes it's a struggle to live in the moment.

We have to remember everything. If we don't, by the time we grow up it'll be gone forever.

... we shoved out many hopes and fears into their hands, believing those hands were strong because they had firm handshakes. They failed us, always. There was no way they could not fail us - they were human, and so were we.