“It was a blessing and also a curse of handwritten letters that unlike email you couldn’t obsessively reread what you’d written after you’d sent it. You couldn’t attempt to un-send it. Once you’d sent it it was gone. It was an object that no longer belonged to you but belonged to your recipient to do with what he would. You tended to remember the feeling of what you’d said more than the words. You gave to object away and left yourself with the memory. That was what it was to give.”
“You’d kiss me back right now if I kissed you,” he said, and I tried to decide whether to even attempt denial. “But then you’d remember him and you’d feel bad for it.”
“I fell asleep, slipping into the kind of dreams that aren’t dreams at all -- just memories with all the details you never thought you’d remember and couldn’t believe you’d forgotten.”
“Memory can refuse to let you forget what you’d like to and run away with what you want to remember. It’s an unreliable bitch, or your best friend. Sometimes, it’s both at once.”
“Imagine how you’d feel if your whole life turned into a job you couldn’t stand.”
“If I knew what you’d do, exactly when you knew what you’d do, then I’d either be you or I’d be God. And we both know I’m not you.”