Images flicker, each one bringing its own sorrow or its own smile. Sometimes both. At the very worst, an impenetrable and sightless black and at best, a happiness so bright that it hurts the eyes to see, coming and going on some unseen projector perpetually turned by an invisible hand. One, then another. The hollow click of the shutter. Now stop. Freeze this frame. Pluck it down and hold it close and be damned by what you see. Henri always said: the price of a memory is the memory if the sorrow it brings.

A normal life. Such a simple idea, but it's almost impossible for me to picture.

A wise man once told me that only by leaving someone good can you meet someone better.

My breathing is controlled, but all the fear and anger within me. Fear is too simple a word. Terror. That's what I feel.

No more, no less. I'm an idiot. I really need to let this crush go.

Never underestimate human stupidity.

Nine, now eight. Are the rest of you out there?