Have you ever written a letter you knew you could never mail but you needed to write it anyway?

I could even feel how perishable all my moments really were, how all my life they had come to me begging to be lived, to be cherished even.

I wondered what it was like to be inside her, just a curl of flesh swimming in the darkness, the quiet things that had passed between us.

It was the oldest sound there was. Souls flying away.

When had my fear of broken plates gotten so grandiose? My desire for extravagant moments so small?

Our earlier lives aren't wrong, they are just pre-construction. Our lives are meant to unfold, to evolve, and that's good. The only wrong thing, perhaps, is permanently hesitating on the verge of courage, which would prevent this process from taking place.

Someone who thinks death is the scariest thing doesn't know a thing about life.