“Any time I let it, the weight of living creeps in and starts to drag her down. It would be too easy to say that I feel invisible. Instead, I feel painfully visible, and entirely ignored. People talk to her, but it feels like they are outside a house, talking through the walls. There are friends, but they are people to spend time with, not people to share time with. There's a false beast that takes the form of instinct and harps on the pointlessness of everything that happens.”

“It would be too easy to say that I feel invisible. Instead, I feel painfully visible, and entirely ignored.”

“Of course I want to bed her. A man would have to be dead and buried not to. No, I want to talk to her. I like talking to her. Dammit, the bedding part is natural. Wanting to spend time with her outside the bedchamber is not.”

“There are friends, but they are people to spend time with, not people to share time with.”

“Not being able to talk sucks. There's no doubt about that. There's a lot of times when I almost feel like I'm trapped inside of myself. Like if I don't talk or yell or scream or laugh I'm going to explode. A lot of the time it almost feels like I'm suffocating.”

“Last time I talked to her she didn't sound like herself. She's depressed. It's awful what happens when people run out of money. They start thinking they're no good.”