When she slept, she looked peaceful, beautiful. Not Lena's kind of beautiful, something different. She looked content - like a sunny day, a cold glass of milk, an unopened book before you cracked the binding.

In death, lie. In living, cry. Carry me home to remember to be remembered.

Everything about me remembers everything about you

the wheel of fate crushes us all

A kiss that was every bit as big and every bit as small as a kiss can be.

Nothing in my life is a coincidence.

Aw, come on. I barely speak English, unless we're talking about the Lowcountry kind.