“I was a heartless, ungrateful wench of a girl who promised everyone who came into contact with me a one-way ticket to pain and hurt. I didn’t know how to love and I didn’t deserve to be loved back.”

“I made love to a woman who didn’t exist, and I can’t remember how it didn’t feel. It amazes me how often I think about not thinking about it.”

“Knowing he was suffering pained me. That’s the way love tangles you up. I couldn’t stop loving him, and couldn’t shut off the feelings of wanting to care for him— but I also didn’t have to run to answer his letters. I was hurting, too, and no one was running to me.”

“While I did that, my own eyes got wet, not fakely, and I blinked the wetness away because it was not my privilege to be sad. Leonard Brodsky was the one who was hurt, and I was the one who’d hurt him, and it didn’t matter that I hadn’t wanted to hurt him or that I didn’t know how I’d hurt him. It didn’t matter that I knew not what I did to him. It didn’t need a name to be wrong. It didn’t need reasons I could understand. Verbosity is like the iniquity of idolatry.”

“Why didn’t you come back?” he sobbed.“I waited and waited for you, like I said I would, but you never came back! Why? Why didn’t you come back? I love you I love you I love you.”

“I pictured a girl who made every moment, everything she touched, and everyone around her feel lighter and sweeter.“I pictured you,” he said. “I just didn’t know what you looked like.“And then, when I did know what you looked like, you looked like the girl who was all those things. You looked like the girl I loved.”