It was like that part of my life, was just gone. It was almost too easy, for something I once thought had meant everything.

The first thing I did when I got inside was turn on the kitchen light. Then I moved to the table, putting my dad's iPod on the speaker dock, and a Bob Dylan song came on, the notes familiar. I went into the living room, hitting the switch there, then down the hallway to my room, where I did the same. It was amazing what a little noise and brightness could do to a house and a life, how much the smallest bit of each could change everything. After all these years of just passing through, I was beginning to finally feel at home.

What happened to goodbye?

I turned and looked into the gas station, where Wes was now paying, as the man who'd driven us looked on. "That's too bad," I said. "It's okay, though," she assured me. "Someday I'll show you an extraordinary boy, Macy. They do exist. You just have to believe me." "Don't worry," I said. "I do.

She took the sun when it came and the rain the same way.

You should never be surprised when someone treats you with respect, you should expect it.

Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place.