I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror. Some lipstick would go with this truck, I thought.

I remember running down a road on my way to a nursery of flowers. I remember her smile and her laugh when I was my best self and she looked at me like I could do no wrong and was whole. I remember how she looked at me the same way even when I wasn't. I remember her hand in mine and how that felt, as if something and someone belonged to me.

The great thing about this life of ours is that you can be someone different to everybody.

People rarely bring flowers to a suicide.

Since I stopped writing, I read more than ever. Other people's words, not my own - my words are gone.

Hope you're keeping the dust out of your eyes and your feet off the ground.

Music did that to me, just like God was supposed to, because music seemed both magic and holy.