#pg 102

How amazing it was that people went to work in this rain. Despite the deluge about to swallow us all, the fact that someone kept opening and closing the front door of my complex meant people were commuting to and from work, continuing to live their lives in the apartments upstairs. Working, dropping by the store, all the things they need to do to keep going. I needed to keep going too. If I wanted to be ordinary, I had to put the effort into being ordinary. I just felt annoyed that of all the ordinary things I had to do, I had to start with the one where I'm going to work in the rain . . .

Grief is a sea made of your own tears. Salty swells cover the dark depths you must swim at your own pace. It takes time to build stamina. Some days, my arms sliced through the water, and I felt things would be okay, the shore wasn't so far off. Then one memory, one moment would nearly drown me, and I'd be back to the beginning, fighting to stay above the waves, exhausted, sinking in my own sorrow.

It struck him that in moments of crisis one is never fighting against an external enemy but always against one’s own body.

"We fell in love, despite our differences, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created.