the mark we've left on each other is the color and shape of love. That's the unfinished business between us. because love, love is never finished.

I'm still going to love you, always. And in the rock-paper-scissors of life, love is rock. fear, anger, everthing else...no contest.

I have no desire to go back to San Francisco.

A know a place called New Beginnings, but I don't think it works quite like that. You can't just erase everything that came before.

I grew up in San Francisco in the 1970s. We were part of a church that belonged to the California Jesus movement.

It's not words, so much, just my mind going blank and thoughts reaching up up up, me wishing I could climb through the ceiling and over the stars until I can find God, really see God, and know once and for all that everything I've believed my whole life is true, and real. Or, not even everything. Not even half. Just the part about someone or something bigger than us who doesn't lose track. I want to believe the stories, that there really is someone who would search the whole mountainside just to find that one lost thing that he loves, and bring it home.

The importance of our connection, what it meant to find each other again, the way it made what happened to us and between us not be a waste, not be for nothing. He would know, he had to know, that not saying good-bye would be the worst end of all.