...the past: It drifts, it gathers. If you are not careful, it will bury you. This is half the reason for the cure: It clean-sweeps; it makes the past, and all its pain, distant, like the barest impression on sparkling glass.

“This is the first day of my new beginning. From now on I'm going to do things r…”

“His eyes are the color of honey. These are the eyes I remember from my dreams.”

“Maybe next time, but probably not.”

“Son esos pequeños detalles los que forman parte del dibujo de mi vida, como eso…”