There is a gulf as wide as an ocean between should and want, and I am drowning in it.

You can argue that it's a different world now than the one when Matthew Shepard was killed, but there is a subtle difference between tolerance and acceptance. It's the distance between moving into the cul-de-sac and having your next door neighbor trust you to keep an eye on her preschool daughter for a few minutes while she runs out to the post office. It's the chasm between being invited to a colleague's wedding with your same-sex partner and being able to slow-dance without the other guests whispering.

There are just as many stories to be told in the dark spots s there are in the bright ones.

I could not remember my first kiss, but I could have told you Charlotte would be my last.

In the end, though, I did not kill my sister. She did it all on her own. Or at least this is what I tell myself.

I wonder if, as you get older, you stop missing people so fiercely. Maybe growing up is just focusing on what you've got, instead of what you don't.

It was nice not having to be the one in control, for a little while. It was nice to be the one who was protected, instead of the one who'd been protecting eveyone else.