Fridays are the hardest in some ways: you’re so close to freedom.

I still wanted to know why. As though somebody was going to answer that for me, as though any answer would be satisfying.

Please understand. Please forgive me. I prayed every day for you to be alive, until hope became painful. Don't hate me. I still love you.

We'll walk together holding hands, and kiss in broad daylight, and love each other as much as we want to, and no one will ever try to keep up apart.

Things would get difficult again. But that was okay too. The bravery was in moving forward, no matter what.

The priests and the scientists are right about one thing: At our heart, at our base, we are no better than animals.

Grief is like sinking, like being buried.