Fate is just another word for people's choices coming to a head. Destiny, coincidence, whatever you name it. It inevitably lies in our hands.

I try to find meaning anywhere I can. It's the only way I know how to validate my existence.

We had pathetically simple dreams: to do meaningful work that we could be proud of, to be together, and to be happy.

We hovered above the moment like two rain clouds

Did you really want to die?" "No one commits suicide because they want to die." "Then why do they do it?" "Because they want to stop the pain.

I would have remembered the good stuff. Nobody ever remembers the good stuff.

It seemed cruelly unfair to me, even then, how fast your life can change before you have an opportunity to rethink your choices. We should get second chances on the big stuff. We should come equipped with erasers attached to the tops of our heads. Like pencils. We should be able to flip over and scribble away mistakes, at least once or twice during the duration of our existence, especially in matters of life and death.