I wanted so badly to tell him, but something about that entire night seemed so beautiful, so bizarre, that I didn't trust it with my secrets.

He says one word, nodding into the daylight. "Look." It's an astounding word. It's a gift.

Childhood is a long, long road, from which that dark whispering forest of death seems an impossible destination.

But there’s no such thing as free. There are only different and more horrible ways to be enslaved.

I liked just being with you. I liked the way you breathed when you were asleep. I liked when you took the champagne glass from my hand. I liked how your fingers were always too long for your gloves.

Eventually I realize that I am holding on to him just as tightly as he holds on to me. And here we are: two small dying things, as the world ends around us like falling autumn leaves.

...maybe hope isn't such a bad thing. Maybe it's what keeps us together.