There's A Place In The Brain For

The Joy You Bring Us Is So Much Greater Than The Sadness We Feel About Your Illness.

There Is Always The Risk: Something Is Good And Good And Good And Good, Then All At Once It Gets Awkward.

If You Don't Imagine, Nothing Ever Happens At All.

Late In The Winter Of My Seventeenth Year, My Mother Decided I Was Depressed, Presumably Because I Rarely Left The House, Spent Quite A Lot Of Time In Bed, Read The Same Book Over And Over, Ate Infrequently, And Devoted Quite A Bit Of My Abundant Free Time To Thinking About Death.

I Can't Imagine Us Saying These Things To Each Other Out Loud. But Even If I Can't Imagine Hearing These Words, I Can Imagine Living Them. I Don't Even Picture It. Instead I'm In It. How I Would Feel With Him Here. That Peace. It Would Be So Happy, And It Makes Me Sad Because It Only Exists In Words.