“Memory blurs, that's the point. If memory didn't blur you wouldn't have the fool's courage to do things again, again, again, that tear you apart.”

“Bones,” I sighed. “Know something? I’m not afraid of you, but you scareme….” His outline blurred again.“You scare me, too, Kitten,” he might have replied, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“He paused again as a tear of longing rolled from cheek to lip with the sweet-salty taste of an old memory.”

“Maybe that's what happens with age, I thought. All your life you force yourself to forget people who have hurt you, but as you get older and weaker their memory surfaces again, like a bubble in the water. You have to surrender, because you feel to tired to fight it and push it down again. And maybe, unexpectedly, you find out that instead, of revamping your anger, those memories produce an unexpected sweetness.”

“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.”

“I stared at the words and they did not swim or blur. Rats have no tears. Dry and cold was the world and beautiful the words. Words of good-bye and farewell, farewell and so long, from the little one and the Big One. I folded the passage up again and I ate it.”