I have an impulse to write all over the orange walls- I need an alphabet of endings ripped out of books, of hands pulled off of clocks, of cold stones, of shoes filled with nothing but wind.

And then he smiles, and in all the places around the globe where it's night, day breaks.

We were all heading for each other on a collision course, no matter what. Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.

When he plays all the flowers swap colors and years and decades and centuries of rain pour back into the sky

I don't know how the heart withstands it.

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.

It's time for second chances. It's time to remake the world.