I don't dare touch her. Loss is a knowledge I'm sorry to have. Perhaps the only thing worse than experiencing it, is watching it replay anew in someone else--all the awful stages picking up like a chorus that has to be sung.

Love is not enough to keep any of us alive.

Hope, that risky, illustrious thing. It should have gone extinct by now, but we keep it alive.

She would do anything, anything to belong to his son after a lifetime of belonging to no one at all.

It's quiet for a while, and then Rowan says; "We could talk now. We're alone out here. No walls." "There are always walls." I say.

I like the idea of something greater than us. We destroy things with our curiosity. We shatter with our best intentions. We are no closer to perfection than we were one hundred years ago, or five hundred.

I had this feeling like the solution to everything would be down there if only I could dig through all those clouds.