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

Now I'd rather be infected with love for the tiniest sliver of a second than live a hundred years smothered by a lie.

That's when you realize that most of it-life, the relentless mechanism of existing-isn't about you. It doesn't include you at all. It will thrust onward even after you've jumped the edge. Even after you're dead.

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

I’m with Julian,” I say at last. This, after all, is what I have chosen.

Everything I see and touch reminds me of him, and so everything I see and touch is perfect.

I think of the quietness of Julian's voice as he said I love you, the steadiness of his rib cage rising and falling against my back, as we sleep.I love you, Julian. But the words don't come.