How could a mother who boils water for pasta leave two little girls behind?

My sister will die over and over again for the rest of my life. Grief is forever. It doesn't go away; it becomes a part of you, step for step, breath for breath. I will never stop grieving Bailey because I will never stop loving her. That's just how it is. Grief and love are conjoined, you don't get one without the other. All I can do is love her, and love the world, emulate her by living with daring and spirit and joy.

According to all the experts, it's time for me to talk about what I'm going through... I can't. I'd need a new alphabet, one made of falling, of tectonic plates shifting, of the deep devouring dark.

I always imagined music trapped inside my clarinet, not trapped inside of me. But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?

Who wants to know that the person you love and need the most can just vanish forever

And why do English people sound smarter than the rest of us? Like they should be awarded the Nobel Prize for a simple greeting?

The architecture of my sister's thinking, now phantom. I fall down stairs that are nothing but air.