“I'm thirty-six years old and I've been married once and he left and I don't want to feel this way anymore. Like I can't be vulnerable. Can't relax. It's exhausting, always being on the defensive, keeping my guard up. I feel like Cuba.”

“Well, it's New Year's now but I don't feel that way anymore. I wonder if you do either. Something's happening to me. It's like I'm shrinking smaller and smaller and I can't stp it. There's just os much wrong that I can't imagine the shame in admitting even the tiniest part of it. When you left it was like there was this huge gap to fill, but instead of spreading wide enough to do it I just fell right in, and I'm still falling. Like I'm half-asleep, and I can't wake up, can't wake up....”

“I’m thirty-six years old, but I don’t feel like it. Some days I feel like I’m twenty-one, some days I feel like I’m pushing sixty.”

“It's too late. Seventeen-year-olds don't need fathers.Oh god. I'm thirty-four years old and I need a father. I can't even begin to think what my daughter needs.”

“I'm an alien 'cause I'm not of this world. I have a name but I've been changed and now I can't stay the same.And I'm a loser if that means I've been lost before...I'm a monster if that means I'm misunderstood. 'Cause it's alive and I can't hide it. The energy is rising.And I'm a traitor if that means I've turned on myself. I can't deny it, it's like a riot. I can't keep it quiet.”

“I can't pretend this isn't important. I can't act like it doesn't exist. It's ironic, but true. There are a lot of things I'm really good at keeping secret. But I've learned I'm not too good at that with you. I can't pull it off. I don't want to just hook up. I don't want a secret relationship.""Well, that's a relief," I said, grabbing for both of his hands and holding on for dear life.Doubt started giving way to recognition, but he needed to hear it. "Why's that?""Because I'm really sick of secrets.”