The Collected Regrets of Clover

by Mikki Brammer

A connoisseur of small talk, Leo spent much of his time out and about strolling the surrounding blocks, chatting with whomever was willing to engage.

When you grow up as an only child, you learn to inhabit your imagination almost as frequently as you do reality.

But, then again, loving someone inevitably also meant one day losing them—if not by rejection or betrayal, then most certainly by death. At least when you’re alone, there’s no risk of getting hurt. After all, you can’t lose something you don’t have.

“If they’re odd, that means you’re closer to the west side of the park. And if they’re even, you’re closer to the east.” “But what about the first two numbers?” “They represent the cross street we’re closest to.” He rested his elbow on the top of his knee. “So if it says ‘7751,’ what do you think the closest street is?” I swung my arms from side to side as I thought. “West Seventy-Seventh?”

It frustrated me that society was so determined to quantify grief, as if time could erase the potency of love. Or, on the other hand, how it dictated that grief for someone you knew fleetingly should be equally as fleeting. But while a mother who miscarries might not have ever had the chance to hold that child, they had plenty of time to love them, to dream and hope for them. And that means their grief is twofold—they’re not just grieving the child, but the life they never got to experience. Who are we to tell anyone their pain isn’t worthy?

didn’t want company, but I didn’t want to feel alone.

That was the day that I began to realize how hard it is to be anything but what the world already thinks you are.

“Love is kind of like scratching a mosquito bite—painful and euphoric at the same time.

“is that most of us are guilty of that with our loved ones. We get stuck in a routine and we look at them as we’ve always looked at them, without seeing them for the person they’ve become or the person they strive to be. What a terrible thing to do to someone you love.”

The secret to a beautiful death is living a beautiful life.

Be cautiously reckless.

And instead of constantly asking ourselves the question of why we’re here, maybe we should be savoring a simpler truth: We are here.