“A piece of me is gone," she told me once while we were bra shopping. "I think we're made up of all these different pieces and every time someone goes, you're left with less of yourself.”

“I think we're made up of all these different pieces and every time someone goes, you're left with less of yourself.”

“We were playing Rock, Paper, Scissors," she told him once. "I was paper and she was rock so I lived and she died.”

“I was wrong, I thought to myself. I honestly believed it. Not because Sister Louise told me or because she made me believe I was. I knew deep down that I was wrong and I think that my emancipation began at that moment.”

“Do you miss being friends with Santangelo?" I ask her after the lights are out and we're almost asleep."What makes you think were friends?""Everything."I hear her yawn."Being enemies with him is better." she tells me. There's a long pause and I think she's going to say something more but she doesn't and it's just silence for a long while.”

“I heard your song the moment we were born. And years later, it dragged me back from the lake of the half-dead when all I wanted to do was die. Each time someone tried to kill me, it sang its tune and gave me hope.”

“Because photos are testimony that someone did live. A reminder of past we may have loved or hated. A piece of our lives.”