“I rolled my eyes. "He's talking to himself. My vote is he's crazy." He thought about this. "Maybe he's normal and we're the crazy ones. Maybe everyone should talk to themselves. Maybe we're all just afraid of what we'd say.”

“Maybe [the man who talks to himself] is normal and we're the crazy ones. Maybe everyone should talk to themselves. Maybe we're all just afraid of what we would say.”

“Maybe he’s normal and we’re the crazy ones. Maybe everyone should talk to themselves. Maybe we’re all just afraid of what we’d say.”

“Maybe we're always changing.""Maybe we're always performing.""Then who are we really?" I wondered. "At the end of the day, with the lights off, all alone, which of those personalities that we take on and off are real?”

“We’re all meant to lean on something. Or someone.' I smile. He frowns. He surprises me and grabs the pen out of my hand. He starts writing something down in his neat block letters. He slides the journal back to me. 'I build walls around myself. I lean on those.' I don’t need to ask him why. Everybody builds walls—it’s for protection. I scribble quickly. 'Maybe you should break the walls down once in a while.' 'I’ll just build them up again', he writes. 'But maybe you’ll add a few windows the next time around. Or a door?”

“I needed him to know how I felt so I just kissed him as long as he would let me. I used to think talking was all about words. But you can say so much more with your eyes and your fingers and your touch. Words just make us one-dimensional.”

“Gray yells that he can't just let me go because you don't give up on the people you love, but maybe I need to lose someone in order to understand that."You're dreaming," he says. "Call me when you decide to wake up.”