Then Henry speaks again. "Did he do it?" I turn to him slowly. "Does it matter?

The first time she kissed me, I truly thought I'd had an aneurysm - my pulse was thundering so loud and my senses were exploding. This, I remember thinking, the only word I could hold on to in a sea of feelings.

What she hadn't realized was that sometimes when your vision was that sharp and true, it could cut you. That only if you'd felt such fullness could you really understand the ache of being empty.

Because the more you changed, the less of you there was.

when you [lose someone], it feels like the hole in your gum when a tooth falls out. You can chew, you can eat, you have plenty of other teeth, but your tongue keeps going back to that empty place, where all nerves are still a little raw

There is a fine line between seeing something that's lost as missing, and seeing it as something that might be found.

It doesn't matter what it is that leaves a hole inside you. It just matters that it’s there.