"Do you think that there's an end to love?" Elliot considered for a second. "What I mean is," Sophie continued, "the longer someone's gone, do you think the love … diminishes? Is there a limit to its length?" Elliot laid the sweater in a heap in her lap, her hands buried somewhere inside of it. "I think that every day the answer to that question is different. Some days the loss is as fresh as the day the love left. Some days, you can breathe, not think of it for a stretch, sometimes just for an hour or a few minutes, sometimes for days. Sometimes you'll go a day or a week without breathing
...more
