There's never the right last moment. Even if you get to say good-bye, even if you get to say "I love you", even if you jump off a plane and get a tattoo and hug everyone you've ever met right before you drift off with a smile, it is never the right last moment. There is always more to say, somewhere to go, something to remember. Another discussion, another fight. There is always supposed to be another day.

There is something fascinatingly awkward about an author photo. I'm drawn to those glossy shots in the back of books, mostly because the subjects never look happy to be there.

You know everything and you know nothing… And in that there’s this: You will always learn something new. About him. About her. About yourself. And in learning the bad, the uncomfortable, the messy- it’s what you take away that counts. What will you do with that knowledge? Will you leave? Pull tighter? Ignore it? Use it to fall in love even deeper? That’s when you learn more about yourself.

Having a holiday weekend without a family member felt like putting on a sweater that had an extra arm.

It's sad when our daddies die. Makes us one less person inside.

There's never the right last moment. Even if you get to say good-bye, even if you get to say "I love you", even if you jump off a plane and get a tattoo and hug everyone you've ever met right before you drift off with a smile, it is never the right last moment. There is always more to say, somewhere to go, something to remember. Another discussion, another fight. There is always supposed to be another day.

When something that honest is said it usually needs a few minutes of silence to dissipate.