I wish I knew how to quit you, Tumblr.

...And in freedom, most people find sin.

If people could see me the way I see myself - if they could live in my memories - would anyone love me?

And on the last day, the bad days become so difficult to recall, because one way or another, she had made a life here, just as I had. The town was paper, but the memories were not. All the things I’d done here, all the love and pity and compassion and violence and spite, kept welling up inside me.

My stomach sank. JP had come so close. His immigrant parents had sacrificed so much.

I was not religious, but I liked rituals. I liked the idea of connecting an action with remembering.

You cannot invent an algorithm that is as good at recommending books as a good bookseller.