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

One open, one closed. It was no wonder that the first image that came to mind when I thought of either of my sisters was a door. With Kirsten, it was the front one to our house, through which she was always coming in or out, usually in mid-sentence, a gaggle of friends trailing behind her. Whitney’s was the one to her bedroom, which she preferred to keep shut between her and the rest of us, always.

call it crazy, or just chicken salad. But within reason, or without it i was in it too.

Oh darling, don't be bitter. It's the first instinct of the weak.

I was tired of hanging on, taking the torn pieces to make something whole with them.

It's so easy to get caught up in what people expect of you. Sometimes, you can just lose yourself.

It seemed like this day could go in so many directions, like a spiderweb shooting out toward endless possibilities.