This is what I want: I want to grab my brother’s hand and run back through time, losing years like coats falling from our shoulders.

Or maybe a person is just made up of a lot of peopleMaybe we’re accumulating these new selves all the time. Hauling them in as we make choices, good and bad, as we screw up, step up, lose our minds, find our minds, fall apart, fall in love, as we grieve, grow, retreat from the world, dive into the world, as we make things, as we break things.

Sometimes you think you know things, know things very deeply, only to realize you don't know a damn thing.

You have to see the miracles for there to be miracles.

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

I'm layering away: sauce, noodles, I belong to you, cheese, sauce, my heart is yours, noodles, cheese, I hear your soul in your music, cheese, cheese, CHEESE.

I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes when the grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe.