The world is speaking to you every day, you just don't know how to listen.

It's always very pure, that last moment before an ugly, unsettling truth hits someone. The most stark of before-and-afters.

Like a blinking cursor on an empty page, it was just the first thing. The beginning of the beginning. But at least it was done.

Morgan sighed. "I," she announced, "am so pathetic." "You are not," I said. "I am." She went over and straightened the cling wrap, corner to corner. "Do you know how many times I've brought in devilled eggs? This is, like, the only time I haven't been sobbing and that's only 'cause I cried all night. And Norman," she said, her voice rising to a wail, "sweet Norman, always just acts so surprised to see the eggs, and pleased, and he never, once, has ever acted like he knew what they meant."

So I learned another system: When in doubt, keep it out – out of earshot, out of the house – even if this meant, really, just keeping it in.

Your actions is like a raindrop; it falls into the pond making ripples and then its over.

For two hours I'd felt myself stretching tighter and tighter, like a rubber band pulled to the point of snapping. And now, I could feel the smaller, weaker part of myself beginning to fray, tiny bits giving way before the big break.