“Speed did not feel exhilarating or thrilling anymore. It only felt like a rapid approach toward something distant that she couldn’t make out through the dirty windshield.”

“She did not know why the heat felt so heavy in that house, why all of a sudden it felt so much less like warmth than she remembered.”

“At some point, time isn’t something on the horizon anymore, something you think about happening one day, but something that’s already happened, only there to replay in your mind.”

“Even with the windows up she could smell the thick, spiky aroma of cut grass and the distant hum of a lawnmower somewhere down the street. It was a sad hum, though, like the buzzing of a bee that had lost the desire to make honey.”

“She let go and yet for the first time did not feel she was giving up.”

“She approached the car with a confident stride that implied she had lived on the block her whole life.”

“She suddenly realized how much she loved the rain; loved the way it seemed like the sky was purging something it held onto; the feeling of relief that settled over the earth the moment it passed. As if the universe, and all its tiny pieces, took one collective sigh and moved on to the next thing.”