It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world.

"Nothing ever happens like you imagine it will," she says. The sky is like a monochromatic contemporary painting, drawing me in with its illusion of depth, pulling me up. "Yeah, that's true," I say. But then after I think about it for a second, I add, "But then again, if you don't imagine, nothing ever happens at all."

The job of reading is to use stories as a way into seeing other people as we see ourselves

People are such idiots. As if there's something wrong with being in love.

I didn't know what to say to her - I was caught in a love triangle with one dead side.

I was so tired of her getting upset for no reason. The way she would get sulky and make references to the freaking oppressive nature of tragedy or whatever but then never said what was wrong, never have any goddamned reason to be sad. And I just think you ought to have a reason. My girlfriend dumped me, so I'm sad. I got caught smoking, so I'm pissed off. My head hurts, so I'm cranky. She never had a reason, Pudge. I was just so tired of putting up with her drama. And I just let her go. Christ.

She was up and down—from fire and brimstone to smoke and ashes.