“I'm always leaving, but I never have anywhere to go.”

“Sometimes I feel hunted by my grief. It circles me, stalks me. It's always in my periphery. Sometimes I can fake it out. Sometimes I make myself go so still, it can't sense that I'm there anymore and it goes away. I do that right now.”

“I wouldn't have left you like that. Not like she did to me." I swallow hard. "She always said I'd die without her and she left anyway.""But you didn't die," He says."I did," I say. "I'm just waiting for the rest of me to catch up.”

“She always said I'd die without her and she left anyway.""But you didn't." he says."I did," I say. "I'm just waiting for the rest of me to catch up.”

“I don't know how I'm going to do this, move through the hours like someone who wants to still be breathing when I had so firmly made up my mind to stop.”

“I'm dying. I am dying. I have finally achieved what I set out to do. My heart is splitting open and I breathe in but no air gets into my lungs.”

“He tells me its going to be okay until all the words blur together into a hum that makes me close my eyes and I start to go away and five, ten, fifteen minutes later, I'm aware of my hand sliding down his lap and then nothingness and then the gentle sensation of his index finger pressing into my open palm and then his hand is at my face, running his fingers across my skin and I'm so awake.”