I have had to give up so much, so many selves and lives already. I have grown up and out of the rubble of my old lives, of things and people I have cared for.

And there it is: Even though we’re standing in the same patch of sun-drenched pavement, we might as well be a hundred thousand miles apart.

I'm used to a feeling of doubleness, of thinking one thing and having to do another, a constant tug-of-war.

I vowed after that day that I would be your hero too, no matter how long it took

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

But maybe happiness isn't in the choosing. Maybe it's in the fiction, in the pretending: that wherever we have ended up is where we intended to be all along.

You came form different starts and you'll come to different ends.