A second later, when he looked up at me, we were face to face, and again, even under these circumstances, I was struck by how good looking he was, in that accidental, doesn't-even-know-it kind of way. Which only made it worse. Or better. Or whatever. "Yup", he said, as if there'd been any doubt, "you're in there, all right." "I was warned, too,"I told him, as he stood up. "I just saw that sculpture, and I got distracted." "The sculpture?" He looked at it, then at me. "Oh, right. Because you know it.

I've always known who I am. I might not work perfectly, or be like them, but that's okay. I know I work in my own way.

Because this is what happens when you try to run from the past. It just doesn’t catch up, it overtakes … blotting out the future.

It's only advice. Ignore it if you want.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It's so easy in the past tense.

A lot can change between planning something and actually doing it. But maybe all that really matters is that anything is different at all.

As if he was beating me to the punch, his words living forever, while I was left speechless, no rebuttal, no words left to say.