Grief is like sinking, like being buried.

Direction, like time, is a general thing, the deprived of boundaries and borders. It is an endless process interception and reinterception, doubling back and adjusting.

The memories seem like snapshots from someone else’s life.

All this time, I thought we were growing apart because I was leaving Lena behind. But really it was the reverse. She was learning to lie. She was learning to love.

I’m sorry for everything.” Then he turns and pushes back into the woods, and he’s gone.

Less than a month ago all of August still stretched before us - long and golden and reassuring, like an endless period of delicious sleep.

Something must die so that others can live.