The language of solace, and comets, and the girls we all become, in the end.

The past did affect the present and the future, in ways you could see and a million ones you couldn't. Time wasn't a thing you could divide easily; there was no defined middle or beginning or end. I could pretend to leave the past behind, but it would not leave me.

Never would forever, with all its meanings, be so clear and distinct as in the true, guaranteed end of the world.

He was the closest thing I'd ever had to something, or someone, that mattered. But in the end, close didn't count. You were either in, or you weren't.

Everything always gets crazy at the end. You just have to keep going, regardless of how awful it gets. So that's what I do.