You might want someone else to save you, or might want to save someone so badly. But no one else can save you, not really, not from yourself.

The more you love somthing, the harder it is to lose.

I guess somethings turned out too sad even to be explained with a bases-loaded strikeout.

What’s left of what your body was —once the girl with bare shoulder blades , giggling, once the girl galloping an imaginary horse, once the girl sleeping in her sequined red dress— was now ash in a jar. Grains of bone. But then, I knew it wasn’t you anymore. You were somewhere more.