“It hurts to breathe. It hurts to live. I hate her, yet I do not think I can exist without her.”

“But only people you care about can hurt you. That doesn't mean I love her. Hate is not the opposite of love; not caring is. And as long as I hate her, I still care about her, and she has the power to hurt me. To make me hate myself.”

“I hate that she's hurt. I hate that she's been hurt, by me and by others, throughout the entire arc of her life. I barely remember pain, but when I see it in her I feel it in myself, in disproportionate measure. it creeps into my eyes, stinging, burning.”

“I was afraid. Of getting hurt in other ways. To be truthful, I still am."His thumb stroked her cheek. "I would never hurt you.""I don't think you can promise me that." She squeezed his bruised fingers. "But it makes things a bit more equal, to know that I can hurt you, too."His gaze fell to her lips. He said simply, without any trace of irony, "You are killing me.”

“I still go to bed sad, and wake up sad, and it still hurts like hell, but there are moments during the day when it hurts less. Sometimes I can think of June and not want to burst into tears or put my fist through a wall. Sometimes I'm close to happy and it doesn't even hurt. Much. I'll never be the way I was before, but maybe that's okay. Life goes on, I'm going on, even without her. Not every day hurts. Not every breath hurts.Maybe that's all we can really ask for.”

“Then tell me Mark, how can I do it? How do I watch her life fade everyday but not hurt? How do I continue to breath, when I know she takes one less breath everyday? Why Mark, Why is this happening to someone so precious?”