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Having my head in the clouds was my way of surviving.
As though the past could ever be altered.
When I was young, I was easily enchanted by new friends, new places, new ideas, but later the magic would wear off and I would see things for what they were.
More than anything, I wanted their ignorance, their innocence, their peace of mind, because I knew I had lost those things for good.
Perhaps memory is not merely the preservation of a moment in the mind, but the process of repeatedly returning to it, carefully breaking it up in parts and assembling them again until we can make sense of what we remember.
I wondered whether there would ever be a time when I would be at peace, when my heart would not feel as though lead had been cast inside it.
That’s when I started to realize that some things couldn’t be explained. It was just chance. It couldn’t be argued with. There’s no reason or order to it.”
Be patient, I told myself. Be patient. Things will get better.
life will rarely give you a second shot.”
“You get used to it. You get used to anything, I guess.
Grief demanded surrender. I had to let go. I had to learn how to live with just the memories, nothing else.
I wish I could close the gap between the way things used to be and the way they are now.
love was not a tame or passive creature, but a rebellious beast, messy and unpredictable, capacious and forgiving, and that it would deliver me from grief and carry me out of the darkness.
