The only thing I can't stand more than seeing something done wrong is seeing it done slowly.

But all I could think of was how when nothing made sense and hadn't for ages, you just have to grab onto anything you feel sure of.

This was how I was dealing with everyone and everything lately, taking the good when it came, and the bad the same way, knowing each would pass in its own time.

We were willing to do so much for the people we loved, even if it meant hurting ourselves. Maybe that, in the end, was what love- all kinds- was really about.

She stroked my hair and told me I was beautiful, but I was old enough by then to know not to believe it anymore.

She was just a shell of her former self, functioning and talking but hardly alive.

That was the thing about being on the inside: the world was just going on, even when it seemed like time for you had stopped for good.