“How many years have slipped through our hands? At least as many as the constellations we still can identify. The quarter moon, like a light skiff, floats out of the mist-remnants Of last night’s hard rain. It, too, will slip through our fingers with no ripple, without us in it.”
“The worst memories stick with us, while the nice ones always seem to slip through our fingers.”
“We leave such a trail of bodies through our teens and twenties that it's hard to tell which one is us. How many versions do we abandon over the years”
“There are so many people we could become, and we leave such a trail of bodies through our teens and twenties that it's hard to tell which one is us. How many versions do we abandon over the years?”
“When we carry a safety net made of cash, we allow the one made of community to slip through our fingers.”
“I'm tired of this. It's like, just when I think our goal is within reach, it slips right through our fingers. It's happened time and again. Now, when we finally in our grasp, the truth slaps us in the face.”