My first kiss. A new kind of kiss, like the new kind of music still playing, softly, in the distance - wild and arrhythmic, desperate. Passionate.

For a moment, my heart aches for him. I should never have asked him to join me here; I should never have asked him to cross.

We're killers, all of us: We kill our lives, our past selves, the things that mattered. We bury them under slogans and excuses.

I guess there are some things you never get used to.

Amor deliria nervosa: It affects your mind so that you cannot think clearly, or make rational decisions about your own well-being. Symptom number twelve.

You must hurt, or be hurt.

I think of Grace and feel a sharp pain in my chest.