“The dictionary says my identity should be all about being separate or distinct, and yet it feels like it is so wrapped up in others.”

“I decide that sometimes definitions are wrong. Even if they're written in a dictionary. Identities aren't always separate and distinct. Sometimes they ARE wrapped up with others. Sometimes, for a few minutes, maybe they can even be shared. And if I am ever fortunate enough to return to Mr. Bender's garden, I wonder if the birds will see that piece of him that is wrapped up in me.”

“Because two people in love don't make a hive mind. Neither should they want to be a hive mind, to think the same, to know the same. It's about being separate and still loving each other, being distinct from each other. One is the violin string one is the bow.”

“But nothing disturbs the feeling of specialness like the presence of other human beings feeling identically special.”

“But I feel separated now, as though a clear thin wall rises up distinctly between myself and those staring at me. We can see each other, but we can't cross over.”

“Love should feel like a hand sewn quilt made by grandma, wrapping you up on a cold winter morning.”