Seeing his face after months was as immediate as a pointed gun.

Once in a while, I smell Clive on my skin and it stops my day. It's a train crossing; I wait to pass. Eventually the lights stop flashing, the barriers lift. I keep moving.

My heart's been torn wide open, just like I feared it would be, and I have no willpower to close it back up.

Getting Shot, Yet Not Giving Up To Survive...

Eleanor went to her room "where she was free to think and be wretched.

What right have I to grieve, who have not ceased to wonder?