If You Could See Me Now

Life is made up of meetings and partings. People come into your life everyday, you say good morning, you say good evening, some stay for a few minutes, some stay for a few months, some a year, others a whole lifetime. No matter who it is, you meet and then you part.

"I'm so glad I met you Elizabeth Egan; I'll thank my lucky stars for that. I think I wished for you all of my life" He whispered. "But now it is time for us to part."

The important thing is not what we look like, but the role we play in our best friend's life.

Friends choose certain friends because that's the kind of company they are looking for at that specific time, not because they're the correct height, age, or have the right hair color.

When you drop a glass or a plate to the ground it makes a loud crashing sound. When a window shatters a table leg breaks or when a picture falls off the wall it makes a noise. But as for your heart when that breaks it's completely silent. You would think as it's so important it would make the loudest noise in the whole world or even have some sort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell. But it's silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain. If there is a noise it's internal. It screams and no one can hear it but you. It screams so loud your ears ring and your head aches. It thrashes around in your chest like a great white shark caught in the sea it roars like a mother bear whose cub has been taken. That's what it looks like and that's what it sounds like a thrashing panicking trapped great big beast roaring like a prisoner to its own emotions.

But that's the thing about love no-one is untouchable.

I felt that my views and philosophies had been changed overnight. The philosophies that I had gladly carved in stone, recited and danced upon.

The more you try to simplify things the more you complicate them. You create rules, build walls, push people away, lie to yourself and ignore true feelings. That is not simplifying things.

That's the thing about lessons, you always learn them when you don't expect them or want them. There is no advice that I can give you, you will just have to trust yourself that when the time comes, you'll make the right decision.

Children are the ones that know exactly what's going on in the world, you know. They 'see' more than adults, 'believe' in more, are honest, and will always, 'always' let you know where you stand.

Sighs and silences and avoided conversations are just as important as the things you do talk about.

Life's kind of like a painting. A really bizarre, abstract painting. You could look at it and think that all it is, is a blur. And you could continue living your life thinking that all it is, is just a blur. But if you really look at it, really see it, focus on it, and use your imagination, life can become so much more. The painting could be of the sea, the sky, people,buildings, a butterfly on a flower, or anything except the blur you were once convinced it was.

Well I think its quite obvious that if you're going to rely on something to carry your wishes, you might as well know where exactly it has come from and where it intends on going.

Not like a heart, which let people in without permission, held them in a special place she never had any say in and then yearned for them to remain there longer than they planned.

If you can't put magnolia on a wall then there are always a million other colors you can use, if you can't pay your phone bill then just write letters telling them. I'm not playing down the importance of these things, yes you need money for food, yes you need food to survive, but you also need sleep to have energy, to smile to be happy, and to be happy so you can laugh, just so you don't keel over with a heart attack.

People forget they have options. And they forget that those things really don't matter. They should concentrate on what they have and not what they don't have. And by the way, wishing and dreaming doesn't mean concentrating on what you don't have, it's positive thinking that encourages hoping and believing, not whining and moaning.

Alone because love was one of those feelings that you could never have control of. And she needed to be in control. She had loved before, had been loved, had tasted what it was
to dream, and had felt what it was to dance on air. She had also learned what it was to cruelly land back on the earth with a thud.

Having to take care of her sister's child had sent her love away and there had been no one since. She had learned not to lose control of her feelings again.

A Place Called Here

I can only assume that there's only one thing more frustrating than not being able to find someone, and that's not being found. I would want someone to find me, more than anything.

Summer by the Sea

= No one had ever told them they might need each other one day, an for some reason, they hadn't figured it out themselves.
= She was the living, breathing proof that the hard things in life didn't have to defeat you - or even define you.
= She knew with painful certainty that the opposite of love was not hate, but indifference.

Perfect

She wept with shame for her lack of will and with fear for a love she couldn't control.

Confession of a Teen-Nanny

     The great thing about real life is that it belongs to you. You can make it up as you go along!
     Red-hot anger takes away a lot of the heartache.

Along For the Ride

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.

It's still a memory worth having, even if it's not exactly what you imagined.

Paradise

You can't outwit fate by standing on the sidelines placing little sidebets about the outcome of life. Either you wade in and risk everything you have to play the game or you don't play at all. And if u don't play u can't win. 


Beside him a tiny elderly woman was leaning on a cane, studying him with curiosity. Since good manners seemed to require that he speak to her, Jon cast about for some sort of polite conversation pertinent to the occasion. "I hate funerals, don't you?" He said.
"I rather like them," she said smugly. "At my age, I regard each funeral I attend as a personal triumph, because I was not the guest of honor."


Some people feel love in their hearts, Julie. Some of us feel it all way into our souls. We're the ones who can't forget. 


He will love only once - but it will be for always.


It isn’t what you say that counts, it’s what you don’t say” 


If you'll kiss me back," he whispered huskily, brushing his lips along the curve of her jaw, "I'll make it six million. If you'll go to bed with me tonight," he continued, losing himself in the scent of her perfume and the softness of her skin, "I'll give you the world. But if you'll move in with me," he continued, dragging his mouth across her cheek to the corner of her lips, "I'll do much better than that." 
Unable to turn her face farther because his arm was in the way and unable to turn her body because his body was in the way, Meredith tried to infuse disdain in her voice and simultaneously ignore the arousing touch of his tongue against her ear. "Six million dollars and the whole world!" she said in a slightly shaky voice. "What else could you possibly give me if I move in with you?" 
"Paradise." Lifting his head, Matt took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to meet his gaze. In an aching, solemn voice he said, "I'll give you paradise on a gold platter. Anything you want— everything you want. I come with it, of course. It's a package deal." Meredith wallowed audibly, mesmerized by the melting look in his silver eyes and the rich timbre of his deep voice. "We'll be a family," he continued, describing the paradise he was offering while he bent his head to her again. "We'll have children ... I'd like six," he teased, His lips against her temple. "But I'll settle for one. You don't have to decide now." She drew in a ragged breath and Matt decided he'd pushed matters as far as he dared for one night. Straightening abruptly, he chucked her under her chin. "Think about it," he suggested with a grin.” 

Dear My Girls

What do you think is beauty?

This Lullaby

I am coming to terms with the fact that loving someone requires a leap of faith, and that a soft landing is never guaranteed.

Some things don't last forever, but some things do.  Like a good song, or a good book, or a good memory you can take out and unfold in your darkest times, pressing down on the corners and peering in close, hoping you still recognize the person you see there.

Because you can never go from going out to being friends, just like that. It's a lie. It's just something that people say they'll do to take the permanence out of a breakup. And someone always takes it to mean more than it does, and then is hurt even more when, inevitably, said "friendly" relationship is still a major step down from the previous relationship, and it's like breaking up all over again. But messier.

Right now, though, I wanted not to think forward or backward, but only to lose myself in the words.

Are those the only options? Nothing or forever?

No relationship is perfect, ever. There are always some ways you have to bend, to compromise, to give something up in order to gain something greater...

The love we have for each other is bigger than these small differences. And that's the key. It's like a big pie chart, and the love in a relationship has to be the biggest piece. Love can make up for a lot.

You know, when it works, love is pretty amazing. It's not overrated. There's a reason for all those songs.

Holding people away from you, and denying yourself love, that doesn't make you strong. if anything, it makes you weaker. Because you're doing it out of fear.

What did it feel like, I wondered, to love someone that much? So much that you couldn't even control yourself when they came close, as if you might just break free of whatever was holding you and throw yourself at them with enough force to easily overwhelm you both.

The fate of your heart is your choice and no one else gets a vote.

Everything, in the end, comes down to timing. One second, one minute, one hour could make all the difference.

...He always did the leaving. But not this time. She kept walking, and did not look back.

She fell, she hurt, she felt. She lived. And for all the tumble of her experiences, she still had hope. Maybe this next time would do the trick. Or maybe not. But unless you stepped into the game, you would never know.

This Lullaby is only a few words,
A simple run of chords,
Quiet here in this spare room,
But you can hear it, hear it,
Wherever you may go,
Even if I let you down,
This lullaby plays on...

And for one second, it was like I could feel the timing clicking together, finally pieces falling into place.

I've seen what commitment leads to.

Going in is the easy part. It's the ending that sucks!

I can say I made a lot of mistakes, but I don't regret things. Because at least I didn't spend a life standing outside, wondering what living would be like.

Whenever you made a choice, especially one you'd been resisting, it always affected everything else, some in big ways, like a tremor beneath your feet, others in so tiny a shift you hardly noticed a change at all.

But it was happening. So many times it seemed like there were chances to stop things before they started. Or even stop them in midstream.

But it was even worse when you knew in that very moment that there was still time to save yourself, and yet you couldn't even budge.

But I think, personally, that it would be worse to have been alone all that time. Sure, maybe I would have protected my heart from some things, but would that really have been better? To hold myself apart because I was too scared that something might no be forever?

And I felt a sudden whirl in my head, knowing this leap was inevitable, that I wasn't just standing on the cliff, toes poking over, but already in mid-air.

Maybe marriage, like life, isn't only about the big moments, whether they be good or bad. Maybe it's all the small things - like being guided slowly forward, surely, day after day - that stretches out to strengthen even the most tenuous bond.

"See," he began, leaning back into the booth, "I was at this car dealership today, and I saw this girl. It was an across-a-crowded-room kind of thing. A real moment, you know?"
I rolled my eyes. Chloe said, "And this would be Remy?"
"Right. Remy," he said, repeating my name with a smile. Then, as if we were happy honeymooners recounting our story for strangers he added, "Do you want to tell the next part?"
"No," I said flatly.

In those first few hours officially single again the world seems like it expands, suddenly bigger and more vast now that you have to get through it alone.

He'd always had that fearless optimism that made cynics like me squirm.

I wondered if it was enough for both of us. I would never know from here, though.

And time was passing.  Crucial minutes and seconds, each one capable of changing everything.

This is what daughters did. They left, and came home later with lives of their own.

But for now, I just sat there on the bed and listened to my song. The one that had been written for me by a man who knew me not at all, now sung by the one who knew me best.

I am not breaking my rules,' I snapped, hating that I'd ended up on the advice-recieving end of things, jumping from Dear Remy to Confused in Cincinnati all in one summer.

The chances we take, knowing no better than to fall or to stand back and hold ourselves in... protecting our hearts with the tightest of grips.

There was only so much space between us,  not even a real distance if measured in miles or feet or even inches, all the things that told you how far you'd come or had left to go.  But it was a big space, if only for me.  And as I moved forward to him covering it, he waited there on the other side.  It was only the last little bit I has to go, but in the end, I knew it would be all I would truly remember.  So as I kissed him, bringing this summer and everything else full circle, I let myself fall, and was not scared of the ground I knew would rise up to meet me.

The only thing I can't stand more than seeing something done wrong is seeing it done slowly.

I closed my eyes and listened. It was like music I'd heard all my life, even more than "This Lullaby." All those keystrokes, all those letters, so many words.

I brushed my fingers over the beads and watched as her image rippled, like it was on water, breaking apart gently and shimmering before becoming whole again.

Just me and the future, finally together. Now there was a happy ending I could believe in.

"So what do you wear to dump somebody?" she asked me, twirling a lock of hair around one finger. "Black, for mourning? Or something cheerful and colorful, to distract them from their pain? Or maybe you wear some sort of camouflage, something that will help you disappear quickly in case they don't take it well."

"He's getting dumped. And he doesn't even know it yet. He's probably eating a cheeseburger or flossing or picking up his dry cleaning, and he has no idea. No inkling."

Yes, it sucked getting dumped. But wasn't it better to just be brutally honest? To admit that your feeling for someone is never going to be powerful enough to justify taking up any more of their time? I was doing him a favor, really. Freeing him up for a better opportunity. In fact, I was a practically a saint, if you really thought about it. Exactly.

"It's so weird," Chloe said finally, "that it doesn't feel different now."
"What?" I asked her.
"Everything," she said. "I mean, this is what we've been waiting for, right? High school's over. It's a whole new thing but it feels exactly the same."
"That's because nothing new has started yet," Jess told her. She had her face tipped up, eyes on the sky above us. "By the end of the summer, then things will feel new. Because they will be."
Chloe pulled another tiny bottle, this time gin, out of her jacket pocket and popped the top. "It sucks to wait, though," she said, taking a sip of it. "I mean, for everything to begin."

That was the nice thing about the Spot: you could hear everything, but no one could see you.

I eased back on my elbows, tilting my head back to look up at the sky, which was pinkish, streaked with red. This was the time we knew best, that stretch of day going from dusk to dark. It seemed like we were always waiting for nighttime here. I could feel the trampoline easing up and down, moved by our own breathing, bringing us in small increments up and back from the sky as the colors faded, slowly, and the stars began to show themselves.

The lizard stared up at us, and we stared back, taking each other in. He was little and defenseless, I felt sorry for him already. This was a screwed-up place he'd just come into. But he didn't have to know that. Not yet, anyway. There in that room, where it was hot and cramped, the world probably still seemed small enough to manage.

But I always worked harder when I was up against something, or when someone assumed I couldn't succeed. That's what drove me, all those nights studying. The fact that so many figured I couldn't do it.

It passed, though. That was the bad thing. It always passed.

In a way, I was almost happy to see her. The worst part of me, out in the flesh. Blinking back at me in the dim light, daring me to call her a name other than my own.

In the dark everyone felt the same: the edges blurred. When I think of myself then, what I was like two years ago, I feel like a wound in a bad place, prone to be bumped on corners or edges. Never able to heal.

I didn't trot my pain out to show around. I kept it better hidden than anyone. I did.

It seemed like this day could go in so many directions, like a spiderweb shooting out toward endless possibilities.

Her life was perfect. But as was often the case, the rest of us were still adjusting.

Once, I was easy. Now, I was choosy. See? Big difference.

"One word," Ted replied, dead serious, "can change the whole world." There was a moment while we all considered this. Finally Lissa said to Chloe, loud enough for all of us to hear (she'd had a minibottle or two herself), "I bet he did really well on his SATs."

It was a basic plot in any number of her books: girl strikes out, makes good, finds love, gets revenge. In that order. The making good and striking out part I liked. The rest would just be bonus.

As if he was beating me to the punch, his words living forever, while I was left speechless, no rebuttal, no words left to say.

I'd seen another shade of him, and if it had been light where we were now, he'd have seen the same of me. So I was grateful, as I had been so often in my life, for the dark.

...as if at the age of eighteen life already sucked beyond any hope of improvement.

"I planned my whole future around Adam," she said now, quietly. "And now I have nothing."
"No," I told her, "now you just don't have Adam. There's a big difference, Lissa. You just can't see it yet."

"So," she went on, "it got me thinking about what cost beauty. Or for that matter, what cost anything? Would you trade love for beauty? Or happiness for beauty? Could a gorgeous person with a mean streak be a worthy trade? And if you did make the trade, decide you'd take that beautiful swan and hope it wouldn't turn on you, what would you do if it did?"

"I should have told you from the start. I will let you down.

I knew this feeling, the 2 a .m. loneliness that I'd practically invented.

"Welcome to adulthood," she said. "It sucks as much as high school."

Despite our differences, we did have a history. No one understood where I was coming from the way he did.

But it was too early to know: there were always more pages to go, more words to be written, before the story was over.

But even more so, it reminded me that this was all really happening. Stanford. The end of the summer. The beginning of my real life. It was no longer just creeping up, peeking over the horizon, but instead lingering in plain sight. Times like this it did seem real I was leaving, and even more that my family, and this life, would go on without me. And again I felt that emptiness rise up, but pushed it away. Still, I lingered there, in the doorway, memorizing the noise. The moment. Tucking it away out of sight, to be remembered when I needed it most.

Maybe, you just misplaced it, you know? It's been there. But you just haven't been looking in the right spot. Because lost means forever, it's gone. But misplaced... that means it's still around, somewhere. Just not where you thought.

So much hanging on just these things, tiny increments that together build a life. Like words build a story, and what had Ted said? One word can change the entire world.

I drove off, with my friends watching me go, all of them grouped on Lissa's hood. As I pulled onto the road, I glanced into the rear view and saw them: they were waving, hands moving through the air, their voices loud, calling out after me. The square of that mirror was like a frame, holding this picture of them saying good-bye, pushing me forward, before shifting gently out of sight, inch by fluid inch, as I turned away.

I was heading off to my new world. But I was taking a part of my past, and the future, along with me for the ride.  

Lock and Key

Everyone has their weak spot.  The one thing that, despite your best efforts, will always bring you to your knees, regardless of how strong you are otherwise.

My point is, there are a lot of people in the world. No one ever sees everything the same way you do; it just doesn't happen. So when you find one person who gets a couple of things, especially if they're important ones... you might as well hold on to them. You know?

Not every thing's perfect, especially in the beginning. and its all right to have a little big of regret every once in a while. It's when you feel it all the time and can't do anything about it... that's when you get into trouble.

If you didn't always have to choose between turning away for good or rushing in deeper.

In the moments that it really counts, maybe it's enough - more than enough, even - just to be there.

The further you go, the more you have to be proud of.  At the same time, in order to come a long way, you have to be behind to begin with.  In the end, though maybe it's not how you reach a place that matters.  Just that you get there at all.

Looking back, it seemed like it should have been harder to lose someone, or have them lose you, especially when they were in the same state, only a few towns over.

Leaving was easy. It was everything else that was so damned hard.

At the same time, though, I was beginning to wonder if this was just how it was supposed to be for me, like perhaps I wasn't capable of having that many people in my life at any one time. My mom turned up, Nate walked away, one door opening as another clicked shut.

I paused, only just now realizing that the subject was hitting a little close to home. "You know, getting hurt. Putting herself out there, opening up to someone."
Yeah," he said adding some cheese straws to the cart, "but risk is just part of relationships. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't."
I picked up a box of cheese straws, examining it. "Yeah," I said. "But it's not all about chance, either."

There's just something obvious about emptiness, even when you try to convince yourself otherwise.

I was only then, when I knew I was alone, at least for the moment, that I reached under my gown into the pocket of my dress. As I pulled out my key from the yellow house, which I'd kept on my bureau since the day Nate left, I traced the shape one last time before folding my hand tightly around it.
Behind me, Cora was calling again. My family was waiting. Looking down at the pond, all I could think was that it is an incredible thing, how a whole world can rise from what seems like nothing at all. I stepped closer to the edge, keeping my eyes on my reflection as I dropped the key into the water, where it landed with a splash. At first, the fish darted away, but as it began to sink they circled back, gathering around. Together, they followed it down, down until it was gone.


Still, there was also was something reassuring about working for Commercial, almost hopeful. Like things that were lost could be found again. As we drove away, I always tried to imagine what it would be like to open your door to find something you had given up on.

We both know the limits of this relationship. It's understood. And as long as we're both comfortablewith that, nobody get's hurt. It's basic.'

My mother has always been the point I calibrated myself against. In knowing where she was, I could always locate myself, as well. These months she'd been gone, I felt like I'd been floating, loose and boundaryless, but now that I knew where she was, I kept waiting for a kind of certainty to kick in. It didn't. Instead, I was more unsure than ever, stuck between this new life and the one I'd left behind.

Whenever something great happens, you're always kind of poised for the universe to correct itself.

You get what you give, but also what you're willing to take.

The night before, I'd offered up my hand. Now, if I held on, there was no telling what it was possible to recieve in return.

"Family," she announced.  "They're the people in your life you don't get to pick.  The ones that are given to you,as opposed to those you get to choose."
"You're bound to them by blood," she continued, her voice flat.  "Which, you know, gives you that much more in common.  Diseases, genetics, hair, and eye color.  It's like they're part of your blueprint.  If something's wrong with you, you can usually trace it back to them."
I nodded and kept writing. "But," she said, "even though you're stuck with them, at the same time, they're also stuck with you.  So that's why they always get the front rows at christenings and funerals.  Because they're the ones that are there, you know, from the beginning to the end.  Like it or not."

"That was the thing about being alone, in theory or in principle. Whatever happened - good, bad, or anywhere in between - it was always, if nothing else, all your own."

There's this other half of him I dont know of, its like he is trying it keep it a secret.... if he would just let me inside so I can help.

Like I, of all people, didn't know better than to lead a total stranger to the point where they could hurt me most, knowing how easily they'd be able to find their way back to it.

"And the rest is history," I said.
"Nah." He shook his head. "The rest is now."

"Don't I know it."

There comes a point when things are undeniable and can't be hidden any longer. Even from yourself.

A lot can change between planning something and actually doing it. But maybe all that really matters is that anything is different at all.

You don't have to make things harder then they have to be just to prove a point.

There was nothing, nothing to depend on. And why was I surprised?

We all have one idea of what the color blue is, but pressed to describe it specifically, there are so many ways: the ocean, lapis lazuli, the sky, someone's eyes. Our definitions are as different as we are ourselves.

The point," Ms. Conyers continued, "is that no word had one specific definition. Maybe in the dictionary, but not in real life.

But sometimes, we just have to be happy with what people can offer us. Even if it's not what we want, at least it's something.

"You know? Conciseness is underrated"

It's never something huge that changes the everything, but instead the tiniest of details, irrevocably tweaking the balance of the universe while you're busy focusing on the big picture.

Obviously it won't all run smoothly. But it's important to acknowledge that while we may make mistakes, in the long run, we may also learn from them.

Once I turned eighteen, I could cut myself off from everyone and finally get what I wanted, which was to be on my own, once and for all.

"For me, family means the silent treatment. At any given moment, someone is always not speaking to someone else."
"Really,' I said
"We're passive-aggressive people," she explained, taking a sip of her coffee. "Silence is our weapon of choice. Right now, for instance, I'm not speaking to two of my sisters and one brother... At mine [my house], silence is golden. And common."

"To me," Reggie said, picking up a bottle of Vitamin A and moving it thoughtfully from one hand to the other, "family is, like, the wellspring of human energy. The place where all life begins."...

Harriet considered this as she took a sip of coffee. "Huh," she said. "I guess when someone else does something worse. Then you need people on your side, so you make up with one person, just as you're getting pissed off at another."
"So it's an endless cycle," I said.
"I guess.' She took another sip. "Coming together, falling apart. Isn't that what families are all about?"

She smiled, pulling the photo a little closer, and I wondered if I should ask her, too, the question for my project, get her definition. But as she ran a finger slowly across the faces, identifying each one, it occurred to me that maybe this was her answer. All those names, strung together like beads on a chain. Coming together, splitting apart, but still and always, a family.

Like it takes so little not only to change something, but to make you forget the way it once was, as well.

More than anyone in that room, I was aware of exactly the sort of person who did such a thing. What I hadn't realized until that very moment, though, was that it wasn't just my mother who was guilty of all these offenses. I'd told myself that everything I'd done in the weeks before and since she left was to make sure I would never be like her. But it was too late. All I had to do was look at the way I'd reacted to what Cora had told me that morning- taking off, getting wasted, letting myself be left alone in a strange place - to know I already was...
Perhaps I was just like my mother. But looking up at Cora's hand, I had to wonder whether it was possible that this wasn't already decided for me, and if maybe, just maybe, this wasn't already decided for me, and if maybe, just maybe, this was my one last chance to try and prove it. There was no way to know. There never is. But I reached out and took it anyway.

It was like those songs I'd heard as a child, each so familiar, and all mine. When I got older and realized the words were sad, the stories tragic, it didn't make me love them any less. By then they were already part of me, woven into my consciousness memory.

You have to admit, it's kind of impressive.... Total commitment. You know, the idea of discovering something that, for all intents and purposes, goes against your abilities, and yet still deciding to do it anyway. That takes guts, you know?

Clearly, sharing something could take you a long way, or at least to a different place than you'd planned. Like a friendship or a family, or even just alone on a curb on a Saturday, trying to get your bearings as best you can. Maybe my sister and I shared more than we thought. We were both waiting and wishing for something we couldn't completely control: I wanted to be alone, and she the total opposite. It was weird, really, to have something so contrary in common. But at least it was something.

Sitting there with them, it was almost hard to remember when I first came to Perkins, so determined to remember to be a one-woman operation to the end. But that was the thing about taking help and giving it, or so I was learning; there was no such thing as really getting even. Instead, this connection, once opened, remained ongoing over time.

After all with me and Marshall, it had never been about words or conversation, where there was too much to be risked or lost. Here, though, in the quiet pressed against each other, this felt familiar to me. And it was nice to let someone get close again, even if it was just for a little while.

I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be one of so many, to have not just parents and siblings but cousins and aunts and uncles, an entire tribe to claim as your own.  Maybe you would feel lost in the crowd.  Or sheltered by it.  Whatever the case, one things was for sure: like it or not, you'd never be alone.

I was just stock in the middle, vague and undefined. It wasn't like I was some expert on the meaning of being supportive. Was it being loyal even against your better judgement? Or, like Olivia, was it making your displeasure known from the start, even when someone didn't want to hear it?

"You want me to give her a key?" the guy asked.
"I want you to give her a possibility," she told him, looking at my necklace again. "And that's what a key represents. An open door, a chance. You know?"

It wasn't so much that I was positive.  I just wasn't fully subscribing to such a negative way of thinking anymore.

How ballsy it was to just assume you know, with one glance, the things another person could live without.  As if it was the same for everyone, that simple.

Don't trust the natives, Olivia has told me, but I was already a step ahead of her.  I didn't trust anyone.  Not for directions, not for rides, and not for advice either.  Sure it sucked to be lost, but I'd long ago realized I preferred it to depending on anyone else to get me where I needed to go.

"You know," I said to him. "Pining isn't attractive. On anyone. ... The worst thing you can do if you miss or need someone is let them know it."

Later, though, I wished I had spoken up, or at least tried to explain that once I knew Cora better than anyone. But that was a long time ago, back when she wasn't trying to save the whole world. Only me.

There were so many times during those years, though, as we moved from one house to another, that I would find myself thinking about my sister. Usually it was late at night, when I couldn't sleep, and I'd try to picture her in her dorm room forty-odd miles and a world away. I wondered if she was happy, what it was like out there. And if maybe, just maybe, she ever thought of me.

Was it really this easy, once you escaped, to just not care?

But it was important to simply be sought, even if you didn't ever want to be found.

But accepting help doesn't have to mean giving up control.

I just stood there, looking at her. My head was spinning, my mouth dry, and all I could think about was that I wanted to go someplace safe, someplace I could be alone and okay, and that this was impossible. My old life had changed and my new one was still in progress, altering by the second.

Sure, there was no guarantee any of these things would actually happen as he envisioned. But maybe that wasn't the point. It was the planning that counted, whether it ever came to fruition or not.

There was something striking about a single key. It was like a question waiting to be answered, a whole missing a half. Useless on its own, needing something else to be truly defined.

Sometimes. It was a good escape. Until, you know, it wasn't.

You just had to know where to look.

There were so many levels to the unknown, from safe to dangerous to outright nebulous, scariest of all.

Maybe I'd just figured out there were some things you were better off not knowing

But the original was there as well - more jaded and rudimentary, functional rather than romantic. It fit not just the yellow house but another door, deep within my own heart. One that had been locked so tight for so long that I was afraid to even try it for fear of what might be on the other side

If this was my instinct talking, I didn't want to hear what it was saying.

How do you even begin to return to someone, much less convince them to do the same for you? I had no idea. More than ever, though, right then I had to believe the answer would just come to me.

"Even if you do make tons of new friends," I told him, "try not to forget where you came from, okay?"  

I hoped this was true. Even if it wasn't, all I could do was hand over what I could, with the hope of something in return. But of course, this was easier said than done.

If nothing else, now we knew where to find each other, even if only time would tell if either of us would ever come looking.  

The Truth About Forever

: What you need, what you deserve, is a guy who adores you for what you are. Who doesn't see you as a project, but a prize. you know?

: But I'd long ago learned not to be picky in farewells. They weren't guaranteed or promised. You were lucky, more than blessed, if you got a good-bye at all.

: We'd start slow, the way we always did, because the run, and the game, could go on for awhile. Maybe even forever.
That was the thing. You just never knew. Forever was so many different things. It was always changing, it was what everything was really all about. It was twenty minutes, or a hundred years, or just this instant, or any instant I wished would last and last. But there was only one truth about forever that really mattered, and that was this: it was happening. Right then, as I ran with Wes into that bright sun, and every moment afterwards. Look, there. Now. Now. Now.

: Some people, they can't just move on, you know, mourn and cry and be done with it. Or at least seem to be. But for me... I don't know. I didn't want to fix it, to forget. It wasn't something that was broken. It's just...something that happened. And like that hole, I'm just finding ways, every day, of working around it. Respecting and remembering and getting on at the same time.

: Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. you get use to the weight, how it holds you in place.

: But that was the problem with having the answers. It was only after you gave them that you realized they sometimes weren't what people wanted to hear.

: That was the thing about being on the inside: the world was just going on, even when it seemed like time for you had stopped for good.

: But as I stood watching her, I realized how truly hard it was,really, to see someone you love change right before your eyes. Not only is it scary, it throws your balance off as well. This was how my mother felt, I realized, over the weeks I worked at Wish, as she began to not recognize me in small ways, day after day. It was no wonder she'd reacted by pulling me closer, forcibly narrowing my world back to fit insider her own. Even now, as I finally saw this as the truth it was, a part of me wishing my mother would stand up straight, take command, be back in control. But all I'd wanted when she was tugging me closer was to be able to prove to her that the changes in me were good ones, ones she'd understand if she only gave them a chance. I had that chance now. While it was scary, I was gong to take it.

: It was like that part of my life, was just gone. It was almost too easy, for something I once thought had meant everything.

: Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It's so easy in the past tense.

: Like life isn't complicated enough. You should at least be able to follow the signs.

: The thing about Wes," Delia said to me, unwrapping another package of turkey, "is that he thinks he can fix anything. And if he can't fix it, he can at least do something with the pieces of what's broken. The way I see it," she continued, "is that some things are just meant to be the way they are. It's just that...I just think that some things are meant to be broken. Imperfect. Chaotic. It's the universe's way of providing contrast, you know? There have to be a few holes in the road. It's how life is. But if everything was always smooth and perfect," she continued, "you'd get too used to that, you know? You have to have a little bit of disorganization now and then. Otherwise, you'll never really enjoy it when things go right.

: That was the hard thing about grief, and the grieving. They spoke another language, and the words we knew always fell short of what we wanted them to say.

: The silence wasn't like the ones I'd known lately, though: it wasn't empty as much as chosen. There's a entirely different feel to quiet when you're with some-one else, and at any moment it could be broken. Like the difference between a pause and an ending.

: That was the thing. You never got used to it, the idea of someone being gone. Just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking.


: "It was just one of those things," I said, "You know, that just happen. You don't think or plan. You just do it."

: I like flaws. I think they make things interesting.

: Life can be long or short, it all depends on how you choose to live it. it's like forever, always changing. for any of us our forever could end in an hour, or a hundred years from now. You can never know for sure, so you'd better make every second count. What you have to decide is how you want your life to be. If your forever was ending tomorrow, is this how you'd want to have spent it?

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

: And that was it. All this buildup to a great leap, and I didn't fall or fly. Instead I found myself back on the edge of the cliff, blinking, wondering if I'd ever jumped at all. It's not supposed to be like this.

: An empty frame, in which the picture is always changing, makes a statement about how time is always passing. It doesn't really stop, even in a single image. It just feels that way.

: I knew that in the silence that followed, that anything could happen here. It might be too late again. I might have missed my chance. But I would at least know I tried, that I took my heart and extended my hand, whatever the outcome.

: How weird was it that so many bits and pieces, all diverse, could make something whole. Something with potential. Perfect.

: But all I could think of was how when nothing made sense and hadn't for ages, you just have to grab onto anything you feel sure of.

: Your actions is like a raindrop; it falls into the pond making riffles and then its over...

: I got back in my car, starting the engine, then drove off. It wasn't until I pulled onto the highway that it all really sunk it, how temporary our friendship had been. We'd been on our breaks, after all, but it wasn't our relationships that were on pause: it was us. Now we were both in motion again, moving ahead. So what if there were questions left unanswered. Life went on. We knew that better than anyone.

: As for me, I was just trying to get it right, whatever that means.

: But now I finally felt I was on my way. Everyone had a forever, but given a choice, this would be mine. The one that began in this moment, with Wes, in a kiss that took my breath away, then gave it back - leaving me astounded, amazed and most of all, alive.

: But it had happened. I had followed Delia's van that night, I had told Wes my Truths, I had stepped into his arms, showing him my raw, broken heart. I could pretend otherwise, pushing it out of sight and hopefully out of mind. But if something was really important, fate made sure it somehow came back to you and gave you another chance. I'd gotten one reaching out to grab Kristy's hand as she pulled me into the ambulance; another during the trip to the hospital that ended with seeing Avery born. Events conspired to bring you back to where you'd been. It was what you did then that made all the difference: it was all about potential.

: You know what happens when someone dies?' Delia said suddenly, startling me a bit. I kept putting together my sandwich, though, not answering: I knew there was more. 'It's like, everything and everyone refracts, each person having a different reaction'


: 'When Wish died, it just knocked the wind out of me. Truly. It's like that stupid thing Bert and Wes do, the leaping out thing, trying to scare each other: it was the biggest gotcha in the world.' She looked down at the sandwiches. 'I'd just assumed she'd be okay. It had never occurd to me she might actually just be... gone. You know?'

:'And then she was,' Delia said, her hand on the bread bag. 'Gone. Gotcha. And suddenly I had these two boys to take care of, plus a newborn of my own. It was just this huge loss, this huge gap, you know'

: I envied Delia. At least she knew what she was up against. Maybe that's what you got when you stood over your grief, facing it finally. A sense of its depths, its area, the distance across, and the way over or around it, whichever you chose in the end.'

: She shook her head. 'Look. We both know life is short, Macy. Too short to waste a single second with anyone who doesn't appreciate and value you.'
'You said the other day life was long,' I shot back. 'Which is it?'
'It's both,' she said, shrugging. 'It all depends on how you choose to live it. It's like forever, always changing.'
'Nothing can be two opposite things at once,' I said. 'It's impossible.'
'No,' she replied, squeezing my hand,' what's impossible is that we actually think it could be anything other than that. Look, when I was in the hosptal, right after the accident, they thought I was going to die. I was really fucked up, big time.'
'Uh-huh,' Monica said, looking at her sister.
'Then,' Kristy continued, nodding at her, 'life was very short, literally. but now that I'm better it seems so long I have to squint to see even the edges of it. It's all in the view, Macy. That's what I mean about forever, too.

: It seemed like it was a choice I had already made. I'd spent the last year and a half with Jason, shaping my life to fit his, doing what I had to in order to make sure I had a place in his perfect world, where things made sense. But it hadn't worked.  'Listen,' Kristy said,' the truth is, nohing is guaranteed. You know that more than anybody.' She looed at me hard, making sure I knew what she meant. I did. 'So don't be afraid. Be alive.'
But then, I couldn't imagine, after everything that had happened, how you could live and not constantly be worrying about the dangers all around you. Especially when you'd already gotten the scare of your life.
'It's the same thing,' I told her.
'What is?'
'Being afraid and being alive.'
'No,' she said slowly, and now it was as if she was speaking a language she knew at first I wouldn't understand, the very words, not to mention the concept, being foreign to me. 'Macy, no. It's not.'

: This was always the problem with my mother and me, I suddenly realized. There were so many things we thought we agreed on, but anything can have two meanings. Like sides of a coin, it just matters how it falls.

: I didn't pay atteniton to times or distance, instead focusing on how it felt just to be in motion, knowing it wasn't about the finish line but how I got there that mattered.

: This was just one night, one chance to vary and see where it took me.

: The fireflies were probably already out: maybe it wasn't just a season or a time but a whole world I'd forgotten. I'd never know until I stepped out into it. So I did.

: He was looking at me, just as I'd thought he would be, but like Bert's, his light was not what I expected. No pity, no sadness: nothing had changed. I realized all the times I'd felt people stare at me, their faces had been pictures, abstracts. None of them were mirrors, able to reflect back the expression I thought one I wore, the feelings only I felt.

: And I think she works so much because she can be in control of it, you know?' I said. She nodded. 'It makes her feel, I don't know, safe.'
'I can understand that,' Delia said softly. 'Losing someone can make you feel very out of control. Totally so.'
I know,' I said. 'But it's not really fair. Like, after my dad died, I wanted to be okay for her. So I was. Even when I had to fake it. But now, when I really do feel okay, she's not happy with me. Because I'm not perfect anymore.'
'Grieving doesn't make you imperfect,' Delia said quietly, as Bert came back out to the van, adjusting one of the carts inside. 'It makes you human. We all deal with things differently.'

: I listened for the voice I knew so well, the one I always heard at the beginning. 'Good girl, Macy! You're doing great! You know the first steps are the hardest part!
They were. Sometimes I felt so out of sync, it was all  could do not to quit after a few strides. But I kept on, as I did now. I had to, to get to the next part, this part, where I finally caught up with Wes, my shadow aligning itself with his, an he turned to look at me, pushing his hair our of his eyes.

: But she wouldn't. I knew that already. My mother and I had an understanding: we worked together to be as much in control of our shared world as possible. I was supposed to be her other half, carrying my share of the weight. In the last few weeks, I'd tried to shed it, and doing so sent everything off kilter. So of course she would pull me tighter, keeping me in my place, because doing so meant she would always be sure, somehow, of her own.

: Here was a boy who liked flaws, who saw them not as failings but as strengths. Who knew such a person could exist, or what would have happened if we'd found each other under different circumstances? Maybe in a perfect world. But not in this one.

: Fine...a word that you said when someone asked how you were but didn't really care to know the truth.

: I have to admit, an unrequited love is so much better than a real one. I mean, it's perfect... As long as something is never even started, you never have to worry about it ending. It has endless potential.

: The choices you make now, the people you surround yourself with, they all have the potential to affect your life, even who you are, forever.

: When you have lost hope, you lost everything. And when you think all is lost, when all is dire and bleak, there is always hope.

: I'd chosen instead to just change my route, go miles out of the way, as if avoiding it would make it go away once and for all.

: It's nice to have options even if you can't take them.

: All I'd wanted for so long was for someone to explain everything that had happened to me in this same way. To label it neatly on a page: this leads to this leads to this.

: It was becoming clear to me that I shouldn't bother to get too attached to anything. Turn your back and you lose it. Just like that.

: None of it meant anything, and all of it was important.

: When you had to do something, you had to do it. And eventually, if you were lucky, you did it well.

: This was our common ground, the secret we shared but never spoke aloud. I should have been with him; she should have left him alone.

: Until now, this moment, as our eyes met. If there was a way to recognize something you'd never seen but still knew by heart, I felt it as I looked at his face. Finally, someone understood.

: I knew that in the last few minutes everything had changed. I'd tried to hold myself apart, showing only what I wanted, doling out bits and pieces of who I was. But that only works for so long. Eventually, even the smallest fragments can't help but make a whole.

: I knew Kristy was probably exacting the revenge she thought I was due, while Delia moved right behind her, making apologies and smoothing rough edges. Monica was most likely following her own path, either oblivious or deeply emotionally invested, depending on what you believed, while Wes worked the perimeter, always keeping an eye on everything. There was a whole other world out there, the Talbots' world, where I didn't belong now, if I ever had. But it was okay not to fit in everywhere, as long as you did somewhere. So I picked up my tray, careful to keep it level, and pushed through the door to join my friends.

: "You're a rule person," he said.
"My sister was a cheater. It sort of became necessary."
"She cheated at this game?"
"She cheated ateverything ," I said. "When we played Monopoly, she always insisted on being banker, then helped herself to multiple loans and 'service fees' for every real estate transaction. I was, like, ten or eleven before I played at someone else's house and they told me you couldn't do that."
He laughed, the sound seeming loud in all the quiet. I felt myself smiling, remembering.
"During staring contests," I said, "she always blinked. Always . But then she'd swear up and down she hadn't, and make you go again, and again. And when we played Truth, she lied. Blatantly.

: "No," I snapped. "I mean, no. I'm answering. I'm just collecting my response."
Another few seconds passed.
"Is there a time limit for this?" he asked.

: I shot him a look. "Just wondering. There was no way to take the story back, folding it neatly into the place I'd kept it all this time. No matter what else happened, from here on out, I would always remember Wes, because with this telling, he'd become part of that story, of my story, too.

: Once, she'd been a pro at decompressing, loved to sit on the back deck of the beach house in one of our splintery Adirondack chairs for hours at a time, staring at the ocean. She never had a book or the paper or anything else to distract her. Just the horizon, but it kept her attention, her gaze unwavering. Maybe it was the absence of thought that she loved about being out there, the world narrowing to just the pounding of the waves as the water moved in and out.

: When he first put his arms around me, it was tentative, like maybe he expected I'd pull away. When I didn't, he moved in closer, his hands smoothing over my shoulders, and in my mind I saw myself retreating a million times when people tried to do this same thing: my sister or my mother, pulling back and into myself, tucking everything out of sight, where only I knew where to find it. This time, though, I gave in. I let Wes pull me against him, pressing my head against his chest, where I could feel his heart beating, steady and true.

: For a second none of us said anything, and I wondered if, in the end, this is how all disputes are settled, with a shared silence as things become equal. You take something from me, I take something from you. We all want balance, one way or another.

: During the long stretches of quiet two-lane highway, with the sun setting in the distance, it was somehow easier to say things aloud, and regardless of what was said, we just kept moving toward that horizon.

: "In Truth," I said, "there are no rules other than you have to tell the truth."
"How do you win?" he asked.
"That," I said, "Is such a boy question."

: No one could tell you: you just had to go through it on your own. If you were lucky, you came out on the other side and understood. If you didn't, you kept getting thrust back, retracing those steps, until you finally got it right.

Just Listen

Don't think or judge, just listen.

There comes a time when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart. So you'd better learn the sound of it. Otherwise you'll never understand what it's saying.

Music is a total constant. That's why we have such a strong visceral connection to it, you know? Because a song can take you back instantly to a moment, or a place, or even a person. No matter what else has changed in you or the world, that one song stays the same, just like that moment.

"So you're always honest," I said.
"Aren't you?"
"No," I told him. "I'm not."
"Well, that's good to know, I guess."
"I'm not saying I'm a liar," I told him. He raised his eyebrows. "That's not how I meant it, anyways."
"How'd you mean it, then?"
"I just...I don't always say what I feel."
"Why not?"
"Because the truth sometimes hurts," I said.
"Yeah," he said. "So do lies, though."

All I'd ever wanted was to forget. But even when I thought I had, pieces had kept emerging, like bits of wood floating up to the surface that only hint at the shipwreck below.

I wondered which was harder, in the end. The act of telling, or who you told it to. Or maybe if, when you finally got it out, the story was really all that mattered.

There has to be a middle. Without it, nothing can ever truly be whole. Because it is not just the space between, but also what holds everything together.

So many versions of just one memory, and yet none of them were right or wrong. Instead, they were all pieces. Only when fitted together, edge to edge, could they even begin to tell the whole story.

This is the problem with dealing with someone who is actually a good listener. They don't jump in on your sentences, saving you from actually finishing them, or talk over you, allowing what you do manage to get out to be lost or altered in transit. Instead, they wait, so you have to keep going.

Instead, we just sat there, together but really apart, watching a show about a stranger and all her secrets, while keeping our own to ourselves, as always.

I am the middle sister. The one in between. Not oldest, not youngest, not boldest, not nicest. I am the shade of gray, the glass half empty or full, depending on your view. In my life, there has been little that I have done first or better than the one preceding or following me. Of all of us, though, I am the only one who has been broken.

I was beginning to see, though, that the unknown wasn't always the greatest thing to fear. The people who know you best can be risker, because the words they say and things they think have the potential to be not only scary but true, as well.

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.

I thought again how you could never really know what you were seeing with just a glance, in motion, passing by. Good or bad, right or wrong. There was always so much more.

Pieces and parts were always easier to process. The full picture, the entire story, was another thing entirely. But you just never knew. Sometimes, people could surprise you.

So while it seemed like you were seeing everything, you really weren't. Just bits and pieces that looked like a whole.

 Like a word on a page that you've printed and read a million times, that suddenly looks strange or wrong, foreign. And you feel scared for a second, like you've lost something, even if you're not sure what it is.

Because this is what happens when you try to run from the past. it doesn't just catch up: it overtakes, blotting out the future, the landscape, the very sky, until there is no path left except that which leads through it, the only one that can ever get you home.

I'd been convinced I was on the outside, but really, I'd always been within arm's reach. All I had to do was ask, and I, too, would be easily brought back, surrounded and immersed, finding myself safe, somewhere in between.

Story of my life.

One week, one strong. One scared, one bold. I was beginning to understand though, that there were no such things as absolutes, not in life, or in people.

Like Owen said, it was day by day, if not moment by moment. All you could do was take on as much weight as you can bear. And if you're lucky, there's someone close enough to shoulder the rest.

It seemed safer to hold it in, where the only one who could judge was me.

That was the thing: Once, the difference between light and dark had been basic. One was good, one bad. Suddenly, though, things weren't so clear. The dark was still a mystery, something hidden, something to be scared of, but I'd come to fear the light, too. It was where everything was revealed, or seemed to be. Eyes closed, I saw only the blackness, reminding me of this one thing, the most deep of my secrets; eyes open, there was only the world that didn't know it, bright, inescapable, and somehow, still there.

As if it didnt matter what was on, but instead how hard I was listening.

One open, one closed. It was no wonder that the first image that came to mind when I thought of either of my sisters was a door. With Kirsten, it was the front one to our house, through which she was always coming in or out, usually in mid-sentence, a gaggle of friends trailing behind her. Whitney's was the one to her bedroom, which she preferred to keep shut between her and the rest of us, always.

So I learned another system: When in doubt, keep it out - out of earshot, out of the house - even if this meant, really, just keeping it in.

And while it is hard enough to take away something that makes a person happy, it's even more difficult when it seems like it's the only thing.

Not for the first time, I wished both of us could just say what we meant. But that, like so much else, was impossible

So I left him there alone to watch history repeat the same events retold again and again on his own.

It is kind of hard to hold a lot in. But for me… it's sometimes even harder to let it out

But you could also look at it the other way. Like you're saying no matter how bad things are for you, I can still relate.

"Really? Screaming?"
He shrugged. "It wasn't that bad. But there were definitely some freak-outs on both sides. Though, to be honest, the silence was worse."
"Worse than screaming?" I said.
"Much," he said, nodding. "I mean, at least with an argument, you know what's happening. Or have some idea. Silence is - it could be anything. It's just-"
"So freaking loud," I finished for him.
He pointed at me. "Exactly."

Whether it was a song, a person, or a story, there was a lot you couldn't know from just an excerpt, a glance, or part of a chorus.

I wanted to tell him so. Find the right words, string them together in the ideal way, knowing that here they would have the best chance of sounding perfect.

On my way to the living room, where my family was gathered, I stopped to look at the photo in the foyer. As always, my eyes were drawn to my own face first, then those of my sisters, and finally my mother, looking so small between us. But I saw it differently now. When that picture was taken, we were all gathered around my mother, sheltering her. But that was just one day, one shot. In the time since, we had arranged and rearranged ourselves so many times. We'd all gathered around Whitney, even when she didn't want us to, and Kirsten and I had gotten closer when she pushed us both away. We were still in flux, as had been clear at the table that night as I watched my mother and sisters come together again. Then, I'd been convinced I was on the outside, but really, I'd always been within arm's reach. All I had to do was ask, and I, too, would be easily brought back, surrounded and immersed, finding myself safe, somewhere in between.

There was no short answer to this; like so much else, it was a long story. But what really makes any story real is knowing someone will hear it. And understand.

This was how I was dealing with everyone and everything lately, taking the good when it came, and the bad the same way, knowing each would pass in its own time.

The world is speaking to you every day, you just don't know how to listen.

Sometimes it seems safer to hold it all in, where the only person who can judge is yourself.

I am still the center sister. But I see it differently now. There has to be a middle. Without it, nothing can truly be whole. Because it is not just the space between, but also what holds everything together.

Love Rosie

Our life is made up of time; our days are measured in hours, our pay measured by those hours, our knowledge is measured by years.  We grab a few quick minutes in our busy day to have a coffee break.  We rush back to our desks, we watch the clock, we live by appointments.  And yet your time eventually runs out and you wonder in your heart of hearts if those seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years and decades were being spent the best way they possibly could.  In other words, if you could change anything, would you?

Ruby: ...What's so good aboaut being 20? I call them the materialist years. The years we get distracted by all the bullshit. Then we cop on when we hit our 30s and spend those years trying to make up for the 20s. But your 40s? Those years are for enjoying it
Rosie: Hmmm good point. What are the 50s for?
Ruby: Fixing what you fucked up in your 40s.
Rosie: Great. Looking forward to it.

You deserve someone who loves you with every single beat of his heart, someone who thinks about you constantly, someone who spends every minute of every day just wondering what you're doing, where you are, who you're with, and if you're OK. You need someone who can help you reach your dreams and protect you from your fears. You need someone who will treat you with respect, love every part of you, especially your flaws. You should be with someone who could make you happy, really happy, dancing on air happy.

At first we had so much to catch up on we were talking a hundred words a second, barely even listening to the ends of one another's sentences before moving onto the next. And there was laughing. Lots of laughing. Then the laughing stopped and there was this silence. What the hell was it?
It was like the world stopped turning in that instant. Like everyone around us had disappeared. Like everything at home was forgotten about. It was as if those few minutes on this world were created just for us and all we could do was look at each other. It was like he was seeing my face for the first time. He looked confused but kind of amused. Exactly how I felt. Because I was sitting on the grass with my best friend Alex, and that was my best friend Alex's face and nose and eyes and lips, but they seemed different. So I kissed him. I seized the moment and I kissed him.

To the most inconsiderate asshole of a friend,
I'm writing you this letter because I know that if I say what I have to say to your face I will probably punch you. I don't know you anymore. I don't see you anymore. All I get is a quick text or a rushed e-mail from you every few days. I know you are busy and I know you have Bethany, but hello? I'm supposed to be your best friend. You have no idea what this summer has been like. Ever since we were kids we pushed away every single person that could possibly have been our friend. We blocked people until there was only me and you. You probably ;haven't noticed, because you have never been in the position I am in now. You have always had someone. You always had me. I always had you. Now ;you have Bethany and I have no one. Now I feel like those other people that used to try to become our friend, that tried to push their way into our circle but were met by turned backs. I know you're probably not doing it deliberately just as we never did it deliberately.It's not that we didn't want anyone else, it's just that we didn't need them. Sadly now it looks like you don't need me anymore. Anyway I'm not moaning on about how much I hate her, I'm just trying to tell you that I miss you. And that well . . . I'm lonely. Whenever you cancel nights out I end up staying home with Mum and Dad watching TV. It's so depressing. This was supposed to be our summer of fun. What happened? Can't you be friends with two people at once? I know you have found someone who is extra special, and I know you both have a special "bond," or whatever, that you and I will never have. But we have another bond, we're best friends. Or does the best friend bond disappear as soon as you meet somebody else? Maybe it does, maybe I just don't understand that because I haven't met that "somebody special." I'm not in any hurry to, either. I liked things the way they were. ;So maybe Bethany is now your best friend and I have been relegated to just being your "friend." At least be that to me, Alex. In a few years time if my name ever comes up you will probably say, "Rosie, now there's a name I haven't heard in years. We used to be best friends. I wonder what she's doing now; I haven't seen or thought of her in years!" You will sound like my mum and dad when they have dinner parties with friends and talk about old times. They always mention people I've never even heard of when they're talking about some of the most important days of their lives. Yet where are those people now? How could someone who was your bridesmaid 20 years ago no even be someone who you are on talking terms with now? Or in Dad's case, how could he not know where his own best friend from college lives? He studied with the man for five years! Anyway, my point is (I know, I know, there is one), I don't want to be one of those easily forgotten people, so important at the time, so special, so influential, and so treasured, yet years later just a vague face and a distant memory. I want us to be best friends forever, Alex. I'm happy you're happy, really I am, but I feel like I've been left behind. Maybe our time has come and gone. Maybe your time is now meant to be spent with Bethany. And if that's the case I won't bother sending you this letter. And if I'm not sending this letter then what am I doing still writing it? OK I'm going now and I'm ripping these muddled thoughts up.
Your friend,
Rosie

I wake up in the morning and I feel like I'm missing something. I know that there's something not right, and it takes me a while to remember what it is . . . then I remember. My best friend is gone. My only friend. It was silly of me to rely so much on one person.

Aim for something Rosie, I know you don't want to hear it, but it will help. Aim for what you want and the year will all make sense. Go to Boston if that will make you happy. Study hotel management like you've always wanted.

You're only young Rosie, and I know that you absolutely hate to hear that but it's true. What seems tragic now won't even be an issue in a few years time. You're only 17. You and Alex have the rest of your lives to catch up together . . . After all, soul mates always end up together. Silly Bethany won't even be remembered in a few years time. Ex-girlfriends are easily forgotten. Best friends stay with you forever.

Life is funny isn't it? Just when you think you've got it all figured out, just when you finally begin to plan something, get excited about something, and feel like you know what direction you're heading in, the paths change, the signs change, the wind blows the other way, north is suddenly south, and east is west, and you're lost. It is so easy to lose your way, to lose direction. And that's with following all the signposts

There aren't many sure things in life, but one thing I know for sure is that you have to deal with the consequences of your actions. You have to follow through on some things.

I love it here in Boston and I love studying medicine. But it's not home. Dublin is home. Being back with you felt like home. I miss my best friend. I've met some great guys here, but I didn't grow up with any of them playing cops and robbers in my back garden. I don't feel like they are real friends. I haven't kicked them in the shins, stayed up all night on Santa watch with them, hung from trees pretending to be monkeys, played hotel, or laughed my heart out as their stomachs were pumped. It's kind of hard to beat that.

It's hard for everyone isn't it? Anyone who says it's easy is a liar.

There's this huge divide between me and Alex right now because I feel like we're living in such different worlds, I don't know what to talk about with him anymore. And we used to be able to talk all night. He phones once a week and I listen to what he's been up to during the week and try to bite my tongue every time I go into another Katie story. Truth is I have nothing other to talk about but her and I know it bores people. I think I used to be interesting once upon a time.

I think I need to face what I could have been in order to understand and accept what I am.

Rosie: What the hell was that silence?
Steph: It sounds like something I'd like. It sounded nice.
Rosie: It was.

Alex: Rosie, I wanted you to be the first person to no that I've decided to become a heart surgeon!
Rosie: Cool, does it pay well?
Alex: Rosie, it's not about the money.
Rosie: Where I come from, it's all about the money. Probably because I don't have any.

Rosie: Sorry about that, Randy Andy here would't let me leave the office.
Ruby: Oh he is such a slave driver! You should complain to head office, get the asshole fired.
Rosie: He is head office.
Ruby: Oh yeah.
Rosie: Well in all fairness Ruby, he may be a prick but we did just take a break an hour ago . . . and it was our third one in less than three hours . . .
Ruby: You are turning into one of THEM!
Rosie: I have a child to feed.
Ruby: As do I.
Rosie: That child feeds himself, Ruby.
Ruby: Ah leave my little fatso alone. He's my baby and I love him regardless.
Rosie: He's 17.

My "Best Woman" speech
Good evening everyone, my name is Rosie and as you can see Alex has decided to go down the non-traditional route of asking me to be his best woman for the day. Except we all know that today that title does not belong to me. It belongs to Sally, for she is clearly his best woman. I could call myself the "best friend" but I think we all know that today that title no longer refers to me either. That title too belongs to Sally. But what doesn't belong to Sally is a lifetime of memories of Alex the child, Alex the teenager, and Alex the almost-a-man that I'm sure he would rather forget but that I will now fill you all in on. (Hopefully they all will laugh.) I have known Alex since he was five years old. I arrived on my first day of school teary-eyed and red-nosed and a half an hour late. (I am almost sure Alex will shout out "What's new?") I was ordered to sit down at the back of the class beside a smelly, snotty-nosed, messy-haired little boy who had the biggest sulk on his face and who refused to look at me or talk to me. I hated this little boy. I know that he hated me too, him kicking me in the shins under the table and telling the teacher that I was copying his schoolwork was a telltale sign. We sat beside each other every day for twelve years moaning about school, moaning about girlfriends and boyfriends, wishing we were older and wiser and out of school, dreaming for a life where we wouldn't have double maths on a Monday morning. Now Alex has that life and I'm so proud of him. I'm so happy that he's found his best woman and his best friend in perfect little brainy and annoying Sally. I ask you all to raise your glasses and toast my best friend Alex and his new best friend, best woman, and wife, Sally, and to wish them luck and happiness and divorce in the future.
To Alex and Sally!

Things change so quickly. Just when you get used to something, zap! It changes. Just when you begin to understand someone, zap! They grow up. The same is happening with Katie. She changes every day; her face just becomes so much more grown-up every time I look at her. Sometimes I have to stop pretending I'm interested in what she's saying in order to realize that I actually am interested. We go shopping for clothes together and I take her advice, we eat out for lunch and giggle over silly things. I just can't cast my mind back to the time when my child stopped being a child and became a person.

Twice we stood beside each other at the altar, Rosie. Twice. And twice we got it wrong. I needed you to be there for my wedding day but I was too stupid to see that I needed you to be the reason for my wedding day. But we got it all wrong. I should never have let your lips leave mine all those years ago in Boston. I should never have pulled away. I should never have panicked. I should never have wasted all those years without you. Give me a chance to make them up to you. I love you, Rosie, and I want to be with you and Katie and Josh. Always. Please think about it. Don't waste your time on Greg, this is our opportunity. Let's stop being afraid and take the chance. I promise I'll make you happy.

Deep down, underneath all his layers of stupidity, he's a really good man. He may act out far too many selfish thoughts, says all the wrong things at all the wrong times, but behind closed doors he's a best friend. I understand that he has idiotic tendencies and I can still love him for it. He may not be someone that you feel comfortable sitting next to at a dinner party but for me he's someone that I feel comfortable sharing my life with. We have a long way to go to being the perfect couple, we certainly don't live the fairy tale marriage, he doesn't shower me with rose petals and fly me to Paris on weekends but when I get my hair cut, he notices. When I dress up to go out at night, he compliments me. When I cry, he wipes my tears. When I feel lonely, he makes me feel loved. And who needs Paris, when you can get a hug?

Somewhere along the way, without me even noticing, I grew up Alex. For once, I couldn't take advice from anyone around me about what I should or shouldn't do. I couldn't go running to mum and dad and I can't compare my marriage to anybody else's, we all follow our own rules.

You all looked so happy together in the photograph. You looked like the perfect family. Is there such a thing anymore because if there is, my happy little unit was definitely not in the queue when they were handing out the titles.

All I need is backup. He's the little angel that sits on my shoulder whispering in my ear, "You can do it!"It's funny. I'm thirty years old now and I still feel like a little girl. I'm still looking around to check and see what other people are doing to make sure I'm not completely different; I'm still looking around for help, hoping for a quick nudge and a whisper of advice. But I can't seem to be able to catch anybody's eye. Nobody else around me seems to be looking around and wondering what to do. Why is it that I feel like I'm the only person who is confused and concerned about the choices I've made and where I'm headed? Everywhere I look, I see people just getting on with it. Maybe I should just follow suit and get on with it.

Ruby: How nice for you all. How is the wonderfully helpful Ursula?
Rosie: Wonderfully helpful. Yesterday she told me I had problems discussing my feelings.
Ruby: And?
Rosie: And I told her that made me feel angry and that she could go fuck herself.
Ruby: Well expressed.
Rosie: Thank you. I don't see where there was a problem, I successfully explained how I felt and she clearly understood what I meant. No problems.

Children need close friends to help them grow up, to discover things about themselves and about life. They also need close friends to keep them sane.

I can't even think about what life "could have been" like in Boston, without crying. It's like deja-vu, I don't think me and Boston were ever meant to be.

When I started school I thought that people in sixth class were so old and knowledgeable even though they were no older than twelve. When I reached twelve I reckoned the people in sixth year, at eighteen years of age, must have known it all. When I reached eighteen I thought that once I finished college then I would really be mature. At twenty-five I still hadn't made it to college, was still clueless and had a seven-year-old daughter. I was convinced that when I reached my thirties I was going to have at least some clue as to what was going on. Nope, hasn't happened yet. So I'm beginning to think that when I'm fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety years old I still won't be any closer to being wise and knowledgeable. Perhaps people on their deathbed, who have had long, long lives, seen it all, traveled the world, have had kids, been through their own personal traumas, beaten their demons, and learned the harsh lessons of life will be thinking, "God, people in heaven must really know it all." But I bet that when they finally do die they'll join the rest of the crowds up there, sit around, spying on the loved ones they left behind and still be thinking that in their next lifetime, they'll have it all sussed. But I think I have it sussed Steph, I've sat around for years thinking about it and I've discovered that no one, not even the big man upstairs has the slightest clue as to what's going on.

Well isn't that one thing you're all the more wise for? Age has taught you something. It seems to me that you know the big secret. That nobody knows what's going on

Once again, I don't quite know where I'm headed Steph. It seems that every few years I'm shoveling up the pieces of my life and starting from scratch all over. No matter what I do or how hard I try I can't seem to reach the dizzy heights of happiness, success, and security, like so many people do. And I'm not talking about becoming a millionaire and living happily ever after. I just mean reaching a point in my life that I can stop what I'm doing, take a look around me, breathe a sigh of relief, and think "I'm where I want to be now."

Katie is like my calendar, watching her grow and change. She is growing up so fast, learning to have opinions of her own, learning that I don't have the answers to everything. And the moment a child begins to understand that, you know you're in trouble.

I've learned that home isn't a place, it's a feeling.

There's something completely unnerving about seeing your parents upset. I suppose it's because they're supposed to be the strong ones, but that's not just it. Ever since people are kids they use their parents as some sort of measurement for how bad a situation is. When you fall on the ground really hard and you can't figure out whether it hurts or not you look to your parents. If they look worried and rush toward you, you cry. If they laugh and smack the ground saying "Bold ground," then you pick yourself up and get on with it.

I had a million plans. I knew what I was going to do. I had the next few years of my life all figured out. But what I didn't know was that within a few hours all those plans would change. Ms. Know-it-all didn't quite know it all so much then.

FatherMichael: OK we should get on with this; I don't want to be late for my 2 o’clock. First I have to ask, is there anyone in here who thinks there is any reason why these two should not be married?
LonelyLady: Yes.
SureOne: I could give more than one reason.
Buttercup: Hell yes.
SoOverHim: DON'T DO IT!
FatherMichael: Well I'm afraid this has put me in a very tricky predicament.
Divorced_1: Father we are in a divorced chat room, of course they all object to marriage. Can we get on with it?

There were hundreds of them spread across the floor, each telling its own tale of triumph or sadness, each letter representing a phase in her life. She had kept them all. Her life in ink.

Sometimes, people can go missing right before our very eyes.Sometimes, people can discover you, even though they've been looking at you the entire time. Sometimes, we lose sight of ourselves when we're not paying enough attention.

There's no limit to what you can dream. You expect the unexpected, you believe in magic, in fairy tales, and in possibilities. Then you grow older and that innocence is shattered and somewhere along the way the reality of life gets in the way and you're hit by the realization that you can't be all you wanted to be, you just might have to settle for a little bit less.

Often when we realize how precious those seconds are, it's too late for them to be captured because the moment has passed. We realize too late.

She was tired of hugging pillows, counting on blankets for warmth, and reliving romantic moments only in her dreams. She was tired of hoping that every day would hurry so she could get on to the next. Hoping that it would be a better day, an easier day. But it never was. Worked, paid the bills, and went to bed but never slept. Each morning the weight on her shoulders got heavier and heavier and each morning she wished for night to fall quickly so she could return to her bed to hug her pillows and wrap herself in the warmth of her blankets.

Mistakes are the portals of discovery.

When something tragic has happened, you'll find that you, the tragicee, become the person that has to make everything comfortable for everyone else.... As a tragicee and future divorcee, you'll also find that people will question you on the biggest decisions you've ever made in your life as though you hadn't thought about them at all before as though, through their twenty questions and dubious faces, they're going to shine light on something that you missed the hundredth time around during your darkest hours.

I know that. I just don't feel it sometimes. Over there I felt like I hadn't a care in the world. Things felt so good and it was almost as if every muscle in my body relaxed the moment I landed there. I haven't laughed so much in years. I felt like a 23-year-old, Steph. I haven't felt like that much lately. I know this probably sounds weird but I felt like the me that I could have been. I liked that I didn't have to look out for somebody else while I walked down the street. I didn't have the fifty near heart attacks per day that I usually get when Katie goes missing or puts something in her mouth that she shouldn't. I didn't have to dive onto the road and hold her back just in time from being hit by a car. I liked that I didn't have to give out, correct people on their pronunciation or make threats. I liked laughing at a joke without my sleeve being tugged at and being asked to explain. I liked having adult conversations without being interrupted to cheer and applaud a silly dance or the learning of a new word. I liked that I was just me, Rosie, not mummy, thinking just about me, talking about things I liked, going places I liked to go without having to worry about nappy changes, bottle feeding or sleepy-head tantrums. Isn't that awful?

I'm trying to make some sense out of the phrase "Everything happens for a reason," and I think I've figured out what the reason is - to pissed me off.

Remember Me?

Our finger prints don’t fade from the lives we’ve touched