I hated cranberry sauce, but for some reason my mom persisted in her lifelong belief that it was my very favorite food, even though every single Thanksgiving I politely declined to include it on my plate.

And I will forget her, yes. That which came together will fall apart slowly, but she will forgive my forgetting, just as I forgive her for forgetting me and the Colonel and nothing but herself and her mom in those last moments as she spent as a person.

Here's to all the places we went. And all the places we'll go. And here's to me, whispering again and again and again and again: iloveyou

You live for pretentious metaphors.

I always had this idea that you should never give up a happy middle in the hopes of a happy ending, because there is no such thing as a happy ending. Do you know what I mean? There is so much to lose.

Who would you die for? Who would you wake up at five forty-five in the morning for even though you don't even know why he needs you?

She fell apart because that's what happens.