That was the thing: Once, the difference between light and dark had been basic. One was good, one bad. Suddenly, though, things weren’t so clear. The dark was still a mystery, something hidden, something to be scared of, but I’d come to fear the light, too. It was where everything was revealed, or seemed to be. Eyes closed, I saw only the blackness, reminding me of this one thing, the most deep of my secrets; eyes open, there was only the world that didn’t know it, bright, inescapable, and somehow, still there.

Like so many before them, they didn't care that my dad was only the messenger. They still wanted to shoot him.

All we had was her room, her stories, and the quiet that settled in as we tried in vain to spread ourselves out and fill the space she'd left behind.

We both know the limits of this relationship. It's understood. And as long as we're both comfortablewith that, nobody gets hurt. It's basic.

I wanted to be somewhere else ... Someplace where the sight of me sobbing would tie me to no one and no one to me.

It sounded stupid, but of course everything does when you're just getting the bare bones facts, only the basics.

It's funny how someone's perception of you can be formed without you even knowing it.