I didn't want to talk about what happened, so it seemed safest not to talk at all.

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

You couldn't see the key around my neck: it hung too low under both collars. But if I leaned in close, I could make it out, buried deep beneath. Out of sight, hard to recognize, but still able to be found, even if I was the only one to ever look for it.

But risk is just part of relationships. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't.

Doesn't it seem sometimes that the whole world's uphill but at least we know the way back will be easy.

That was the thing about being alone, in theory or in principle. Whatever happened - good, bad, or anywhere in between - it was always, if nothing else, all your own.

She knew I could tell with one glance, one look, one simple instant. It was her eyes. Despite the thick makeup, they were still dark-rimmed., haunted, and sad. Most of all though, they were familiar. The fact that we were in front of hundreds of strangers changed nothing at all. I'd spent a summer with those same eyes-scared, lost, confused-staring back at me. I would have known them anywhere.