She raised one leg and gave me all her weight as a I dipped her. She either trusted me or wanted to fall.

We Play the broken string of our instruments one last time

I am concussed," I announced, entirely sure of my self-diagnosis.

In my opinion, actual heroism, like actual love, is a messy, painful, vulnerable business—and I wanted to try to reflect that.

Girls think they’re only allowed to wear dresses on formal occasions, but I like a woman who says, you know, I’m going over to see a boy who is having a nervous breakdown, a boy whose connection to the sense of sight itself is tenuous, and gosh dang it, I am going to wear a dress for him.

The dead are visible only in the terrible lidless eye of memory.

It was nice - in the dark and the quiet... and her eyes looking back, like there was something in me worth seeing.