She's not like anyone I've ever seen before. When I'm not with her, I want to be. And when she opens the book and I see her face, I can barely remember what I'm supposed to say, much less how to speak at all." I test the words on my tongue. "I think I might be in love with her. But how can I really know, since the only love I've ever experienced was written for me?

I wondered what happened when you offered yourself to someone, and they opened you, only to discover you were not the gift they expected and they had to smile and nod and say thank you all the same.

You'd think someone who'd been to medical school would be able to hear through a stethoscope that somebody was empty inside.

Some people, they get down in a hole so deep they can't figure out what to hold on to.

If you ask me, music is the language of memory

What is the point of trying to put down on paper emotions that are too complex, too huge, too overwhelming to be confined by an alphabet? Love isn't the only word that fails. Hate does, too.

You're unwilling to go out on a limb because it just might break underneath you.