I keep telling this story - different people, different places, different times - but always you, always me, always this story, because a story is a tight rope between two worlds.

The probability of separate worlds meeting is very small. The lure of it is immense. We send starships. We fall in love.

If I let them take away my demons, I'll have to give up what I've found.

What's invisible to us is also crucial for our own well-being.

They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?

I find pieces of myself everywhere, and I cut myself handling them.

I looked at my palms trying to see the other life, the parallel life. The point at which my selves broke away and one married a fat man and the other stayed here.