Energy can't be destroyed, only converted into something different. So when a person dies, where does that energy go?

Life was what happened when all the what-ifs didn'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.

Maybe a mother wasn't what she seemed to be on the surface.

And that was the greatest heartbreak of all- no matter how spectacular we want our children to be, no matter how perfect we pretend they are, they are bound to disappoint. As it turns out, kids are more like us than we think: damaged, through and through.

This must be what an addict feels like, I think, trying to fight the pull of one last, quick read. My fingers itch toward the binding, and finally, with a sigh of regret, I just grab the book and open it, hungrily reading the story.

In half hour my mother has managed to give me what my father couldn't: my past.