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“these days, I find myself feeling like I am banging on a locked door of a house that no longer wants me to call it home, a body that no longer wants to bear my name and I wonder what it means that no one seems to be able to hear the way I am screaming so constantly, begging as my knuckles turn bloody- Please, please let me back in, it’s so cold out here alone- I wonder if all this knocking is just the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears, a final attempt of pushing life up through my chest. maybe this house is haunted, maybe this body is rotting.”

“Missing someone is like hearing a name sung quietly from somewhere behind you. Even after you know no one is there, you keep looking back””

“I wanted to hold onto the house the way you'd hold onto a love letter. It was proof that I had not always been completely alone in this world. But I think I was also holding on to the loss, to the emptiness of the house itself, as though to affirm that it was better to be alone than to be stuck with people who were supposed to love you, yet couldn’t.”

'“It’s the little cruelties that get you,” she told him. “Never the big hurts, the pains you can point to, and say, ‘Oh, I see this bruise,’ but the wounds that you can’t even tell are there until one day you are eating a bowl of fennel soup or sunbathing on the deck of the pool and you can’t move, you can’t do anything, because you think, Well, something is dead in me, what has been done to me, and why did I allow this to happen? And now, and now, and now…”’