They told us love was a disease. They told us it would kill us in the end. For the very first time I realize, that this, too, might also be a lie.

Requiem has been controversial because people dont feel I gave it closure.

The reason you can never go home again isn't necessarily that places change, but people do. So nothing ever looks the same.

It's as though the words are trapped, buried under past fears, past lives, like fossils compressed under layers of dirt.

It's the time of the night I like best, when most people are asleep and it feels like the world belongs completely to my friends and me, as though nothing exists apart from out little circle: everywhere else is darkness and quiet.

Don't worry about what you're writing or whether it's good or even whether it makes sense.

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.