At first, she could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him?

I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarely do I ever simply estimate it.

She didn't dare to look up, but she could feel their frightened eyes hanging onto her as she hauled the words in and breathed them out. A voice played the notes inside her. This, it said, is your accordion.

His eyes were cold and brown - like coffee stains.

It's not so much that the old friend is a better friend. It's just that you know the person better, and you know they don't really care if you're acting like a poor, grovelling idiot. They know you would do the same for them.

I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.

I also fear that nothing really ends at the end. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.