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“It could be the death of something you’ve held on to for too long. An old relationship, for instance. Or the passing of an era. As with all things that end, the way then becomes clear for new opportunities. Perhaps a new destination.”
“Letting go is a very hard thing,” he said. “Grief and guilt, even loneliness, can become a comfort. A touchstone. The road behind us, littered as it is with mistakes and heartache, can often be more appealing than the open road in front of us.”
“Don’t,” he said harshly. “Don’t what?” “You need to stop looking at me as if you’re torn between kissing me and killing me.”
“Do you ever think about the first time we met?” I murmured. “Where each of us would be right now, at this very moment, if you hadn’t found me walking on the Battery that night?” “I would have found you regardless,” he said in that tantalizing drawl. “How can you be so sure?” “Because some things are meant to be.”
“Since that first night on the Battery, there’s never been anyone but you. I can’t envision a time when there ever would be.”
