There should be a statute of limitation on grief. A rulebook that says it is all right to wake up crying, but only for a month. That after 42 days you will no longer turn with your heart racing, certain you have heard her call out your name. That there will be no fine imposed if you feel the need to clean out her desk; take down her artwork from the refrigerator; turn over a school portrait as you pass - if only because it cuts you fresh again to see it. That it's okay to measure the time she has been gone, the way we once measured her birthdays.

Just 'cause you can't see me don't mean I gone away.

When you showed someone how you felt, it was fesh and honest. Whe you told someone how you felt, there might be nothing behind the words but habit or expectation.

Your problem is that you have been too honest for too long. Once you start doing it, lying is simpler than breathing.

In my family, we seem to have a tortured history of not saying what we ought to and not meaning what we do.

I, um, I have this problem. I broke up with my boyfriend, you see. And I'm pretty upset about it, so I wanted to talk to my best friend. [...] The thing is, they're both you.

You can widen the feet of a compass, but they are still attached at the top; you can spin them away from each other, but you always wind up where you started.