“Do you know how, when you are on the verge of a breakdown, the world pounds in your ears; a rush of blood, of consequence? Do you now how it feels when the truth cuts your tongue to ribbons, and still you have to speak it?”

“Do you know how there are moments when the world moves so slowly you can feel your bones shifting, your mind tumbling? When you think that no matter what happens to you for the rest of your life, you will remember every last detail of that one minute forever?”

“How do you know that you are not part of a book? That someone's not reading your story right now?”

“Do you know how sometimes - when you are riding your bike and you start skidding across sand, or when you miss a step and start tumbling down the stairs - you have those long, long seconds to know that you are going to be hurt, and badly?”

“You don’t have to say I love you to say I love you,” you said with a shrug. “All you have to do is say my name and I know.”“How?”When I looked down at you, I was struck by how much of myself I could see in the shape of your eyes, in the light of your smile. “Sa Cassidy,” you instructed.“Cassidy.”“Say…Ursula.”“Ursula,” I parroted.“Now….,” and you pointed to your own chest.“Willow.”“Can’t you hear it?” you said. ” When you love someone, you say their name different. Like it’s safe inside your mouth.”

“when you [lose someone], it feels like the hole in your gum when a tooth falls out. You can chew, you can eat, you have plenty of other teeth, but your tongue keeps going back to that empty place, where all nerves are still a little raw”

“When someone dies, it feels like the hole in your gum when a tooth falls out. You can chew, you can eat, you have plenty of other teeth, but your tongue keeps going back to that empty place, where all the nerves are still a little raw.”