There's this other half of him I don't know of, it's like he is trying to keep it a secret... if he would just let me inside so I can help.

talk was cheap and useless. Action was what mattered. And me, I was moving. Now, again, always.

I'm sorry," I heard him say again. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sudden blur of movement as he slid out of his seat, left some bills for the breakfast he wouldn't eat, and walked away. And as he did, I thought again of those mornings in the hallway at school, way back in ninth grade. Everything had started in such sharp detail, each aspect pronounced and clear. Obviously, endings were different. Harder to see, full of shapes that could be one thing or another, with all the things that you were once so sure of suddenly not familiar, if they were even recognizable at all.

Forgiveness is hard. Acceptance is doable.

This was always the problem with my mother and me, I suddenly realized. There were so many things we thought we agreed on, but anythign can have two meanings. Like sides of a coin, it just matters how it falls.

Look. We both know life is short, Macy. Too short to waste a single second with anyone who doesn't appreciate and value you.

People don't change. If anything, you get more set in your ways as you get older, not less