One of the strangest things about life is that it will chug on, blind and oblivious, even as your private world - your little carved-out sphere - is twisting and morphing, even breaking apart.

The mark of the procedure. A real one. Lu is cured.

That's the thing: We didn't really care. A world without love is also a world without stakes.

This is what I want. This is the only thing I've ever wanted. Everything else—every single second of every single day that has come before this very moment, this kiss—has meant nothing.

It occurs to me that for a long time she has been doing her own version of resisting.

Maybe, the hope said. Maybe.

I know that the whole point—the only point—is to find the things that matter, and hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go.