Trying to describe my life and feelings to you is like trying to describe coulours to the blind, or music to the deaf. It's simply not possible.

Anyway, what does mad mean exactly?" Rami added quickly "Aren't we all a little mad? Don't we have to be somehat mad just to go on living, to go on hoping?

I don't know when it started - this thing - bit it's growing, muffling me, suffocating me like poison ivy. I grew into it. It grew into me. We blurred at the edges, became an amorphous, seeping, crawling thing.

If I keep breathing, then I have to keep living, and if I keep living, then I have to keep hurting, and I can't - not like this.

He shakes his head with a slow smile. You'd better be right. If the phone rings, I'm unpluggining it, I swear to God-“ You'd do that to your five-year-old sister?“ I gasp in mock outrage. For one whole night alone? Jesus, Maya, I'd sell her to the gypsies!

You cannot undo the past; you can only learn to live with it, find some way of making peace with it, and move on.

What else could he possibly have done? What choices did he ever have?