That was the worst part about having cancer, sometimes: The physical evidence of disease separates you from other people.

I can't imagine us saying these things to each other out loud. But even if I can't imagine hearing these words, I can imagine living them. I don't even picture it. Instead I'm in it. How I would feel with him here. That peace. It would be so happy, and it makes me sad because it only exists in words.

Like many people, I feel like celebrating. Remember this feeling. It is human, and can help us understand when others express bloodlust.

You matter as much as the things that matter to you. And I got so backwards trying to matter to him. All this time, there were real things to care about: real, good people who care about me, and this place. It's so easy to get stuck. You just get caught in being something, being special or cool or whatever, to the point where you don't even know why you need it; you just think you do.

No headboards were broken.

The labyrinth blows, but I choose it.

She's cute, I thought, but you don't need to like a girl who treats you like you're ten: You've already got a mom.