I didn't trot my pain out to show around. I kept it better hidden than anyone. I did.

You can never be sure of anyone until you're close enough to see them clearly.

That was the thing. You never got used to it, the idea of someone being gone. Just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking.

Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together.

I always tried to imagine what it would be like to open your door to find something you had given up on. Maybe it had seen places you never had, been rerouted and passed through so many strange hands, but still somehow found its way back to you, all before the day even began.

It doesn't matter, anyway, why you like me. Just that you do.

I thought of all the times we'd been together, how I kept coming closer, then retreating, while he stayed right where he was. A constant in a world where few, if any, really existed.