And then, when there is nothing else between us but love, we can begin to find a way to truly be together.

Work. Write. Read. Keep putting words on the page, because that's the only way you'll get better.

Do you trust me? The question is usually asked before an admission that such trust is misplaced.

I cannot imagine how I will cope when I discover that my life is behind me, has already happened, and I have nothing to show for it. No treasure house of collection, no wealth of experience, no accumulated wisdom to pass on. What are we, if not an accumulation of our memories?

I closed my eyes and abandoned myself to my grief. It felt better, somehow, to be helpless. I didn't feel ashamed.

What are we, if not an accumulation of our memories?

I feel like he's taking advantage of me. Advantage of my illness. He thinks he can rewrite history in any way that he likes and I will never know, never be any the wiser. But I do know. I know exactly what he's doing. And so I don’t trust him. In the end he is pushing me away, Dr. Nash. Ruining everything.