“I can say this with confidence, my dear: there is nothing worth loving as much as I’ve loved you.”

Some days, all I want to do is talk to strangers.

I don’t imagine I’ll ever let you get that close to me again.

A man once asked me what my favorite color was. Pink, I told him. He asked me why, and I said, “Well, red is the color of passion, and pink is red with a sense of humor.”

For the longest time, whenever you hugged me, I felt like the wire mother of a rhesus monkey.

It’s a strange sensation. Watching someone come unraveled slowly, one stitch at a time.

I’ve seen all the rooms in my heart, and I can say this about myself now: if I ever had a super power, it would be detaching.

It’s been an exceptionally long life.

Someday, this will be a story about two otherwise good people.

To Agamemnon, with Love