I just think perfection and lasting through the ages is for Greek statues, not us mere humans.

Are the details of our lives who we are, or is it owning those details that makes the difference?

One small changed family doesn't calculate into a world that has been spinning for a billion years. But one small change makes the world spin differently in a billion ways for one family.

Father says it will come in time. “Time heals,” he says. I don’t tell him that I don’t know what time is.

I still cry on waking. I'm not sure why. I feel nothing. Nothing I can name, anyway. It's like breathing - something that happens over which I have no control. (6)

Do certain events in our lives leave a permanent mark, freezing a piece of us in time, and that becomes a touchstone that we measure the rest of our lives against?

It's the unknown that I fear, the bites of memories that still have no connections.