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

There are memories I a better off without. Things better lost forever.

I want him to be happy. And I want you to be happy, too. Even if you can only find that happiness without me.

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

Whatever enjoyment I might have had at the time would disappear overnight like snow melting on a warm roof.

With him everything is a test, affection is measured, that given weighed against that which has been received, and the balance, more often than not, disappointing him.

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