Which weakness shall I tell her? “I walk funny,” I say, and she’s satisfied with that. (inside joke)

Where we are going, I don't know. It doesn't seem to be the place that is important but the steps in between.

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)

Pieces. A bit for someone here. A bit there. And sometimes they don't add up to anything whole. But you are so busy dancing. Delivering. You don't have time to notice. Or are afraid to notice. And then one day you have to look. And it's true. All of your pieces fill up other people's holes. But they don't fill your own.

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

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?

Maybe there was no one way to define it. Maybe there were as many shades of love as the blues of the sky.