“I continue moving with her in my arms until the end of the song, and then we let go of one another and go back to the table as if nothing happened. Something did, though, but I’m not sure whether to pursue it or run like hell.”

“[Veda:] 'Sure. Let me put these [books] back and we can go.'Cora looked at the number of volumes on the table and sat back. ‘I should have brought my iPod,’ she said, folding her arms.”

“I’m going to walk over to you,” I say, taking one step at a time in her direction like I’m talking down a jumper. “I’m going to put my arms around you and I’m going to hold you,” I pause before taking the last step, “and you’re going to let me.”

“He stood up, put the tree back under the grow light. 'There. That's what's going to happen to us. It's called grafting. Taking something from one place and fixing it to another until they grow together. We didn't start from the same tree, but we're going to grow together like we did.”

“Because the song is us and the song is her and this time I’m going to use her name. Norah, Norah, Norah - no rhymes really. Just truth.I shouldn’t want the song to end. I always think of each night as a song. Or each moment as a song. But now I’m seeing we don’t live in a single song. We move from song to song, from lyric to lyric, from chord to chord. There is no ending here. It’s an infinite playlist.”

“That execution will take place here." She runs her fingertips over the table beneath her. "On this table. I thought it would be interesting to show you.""I knew what would happen when I came here," I say. "It's just a table. And I'd like to go back to my room now.”