She had a bottomless well of love for me.

At that moment i felt lonelier than i'd ever felt before, and that loneliness seemed to squat in my lungs and crush all but my most minimal breathing. There was nothing left to say. Not about this. Not about anything.

We’re gonna make up for that. We’re gonna live a long time together.

How do people choose their final words? Do they realize their gravity? Are they fated to be wise?

I seem to have very few casual readers, only passionate and appreciative ones.

He never spoke of that night again, not to your mother, not to anyone else. He was ashamed for her, for Mickey, for himself. In the hospital, he stopped speaking altogether. Silence was his escape, but silence is rarely a refuge. His thoughts still haunted him.' ~pg 139

I don't know about Heaven or Hell, but I do know that we are visited all the time by the spirits of those who affected us in life.