There's a place for everything and everyone, you know. That is the mistake they make above. They think that only certain people have a place. Only certain kinds of people belong. The rest is waste. But even waste must have a place. Otherwise it will clog and clot, and rot and fester.

Grief is like sinking, like being buried. I am in water the tawny color of kicked-up dirt. Every breath is full of choking. There is nothing to hold on to, no sides, no way to claw myself up. There is nothing to do but let go. Let go. Feel the weight all around you, feel the squeezing of your lungs, the slow, low pressure. Let yourself go deeper. There is nothing but bottom. There is nothing but the taste of metal, and the echoes of old things, and days that look like darkness.

Alex loved books. He was the one who first introduced me to poetry. That's another reason I can't read anymore.

i suppose that's the secret, if you're ever wishing for things to back the way they were. You just have to look up.

That's all I want. Just you and me. Always.

Love: It will kill you and save you, both

I don't understand how everything changes, how the layers of your life get buried. Impossible. At some point, at some time, we must all explode.