But how could anyone who's ever seen a summer - big explosion of green and skies lit up electric with splashy sunsets, a riot of flowers and wind that smells like honey - pick the snow?

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.

The salt blowing off the sea makes the air feel textured and heavy.

Of course. That's what people do in a disordered world, a world of freedom and choice: they leave when they want. They disappear, they come back, they leave again. And you are left to pick up the pieces on your own.

There's always some relief in giving up.

I guess that’s just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up.

She liked that word: we. It sounded warm and open, like a hug.