Some stories don't have happy endings. Even love stories. Maybe especially love stories.

...This fear was unbearable. It unwrapped who she was, as neatly as he'd unwound her bandage, leaving too much pain and ugliness exposed. Nerve endings; he'd said they were the problem [causing phantom pain in the amputated limb]." Things that cut off, that ended abruptly or died--like parents and marriages--kept hurting forever.

In the sea of grief, there were islands of grace, moments in time when one could remember what was left rather than all that had been lost.

Lately he'd been seen going out less and less, becoming that strangest of animals in a small town: a loner.

It is a kiss that, once begun, never really ends. Interrupted, yes. Paused, certainly. But from that very moment onward, Vera sees the whole of her life as only a breath away from kissing him again. On that night in the park, they begin the delicate task of binding their souls together, creating a whole comprising their separate halves.

It occurred to her suddenly, sharply, that she wanted to be in love... She wanted not to feel so damned alone in the world.

Real friends. The kind that don't purposely hurt your feelings or stop liking you for no reason.