I shrug him off. 'Can't you just go away?" There's a moment. It has a sound in it, as if something very small got broken.
Moments. All gathering towards this one.
All I know is that I have two choices – stay wrapped in blankets and get on with dying, or get the list back together and get on with living.
Do you want this to be a love story?
Like a tree losing its leaves. I forget even the thing I was thinking.
I'm me and you're you, and all of them out there are them. And we're all so different and equally unimportant.