He touches my face, covering my cheeks with his hands, sliding his fingertips down my neck, fitting his fingers to the slight curve of my hips. I can't stop.

I forgot my watch. Minutes or hours later, when the panic subsides, that is what I most regret. Not coming here in the first place - that seemed like an obvious choice - but my bare wrist, which makes it impossible for me to know how long I have been sitting in this room. My back aches, which is some indication, but it is not definite enough.

Don't confuse your grief with guilt.

I don't believe it is more important to move forward than to know the truth.

I never used to understand why people bothered to hold hands as they walked, but then he runs one of his fingertips down my palm, and I shiver and understand it completely

My first instinct is to push you until you break just to see how hard I have to press.

It's strange to see people you don't know well in the morning, with sleepy eyes and pillow creases in their cheeks