Rebecca Serle

it’s easier to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends.

“Forgiveness,” Conrad repeats, like it’s a stone he’s turning over in his hands. “It’s more for the bestower than the bestowed.”

And I think that maybe that is what love is. Not the absence of space but the acknowledgment of it, the thing that lives between the parts, the thing that makes it possible not to be one, but to be different, to be two.

The future is the one thing you can count on not abandoning you, kid, he’d said. The future always finds you. Stand still, and it will find you. The way the land just has to run to sea.

—MARIANNE WIGGINS, EVIDENCE OF THINGS UNSEEN

David is staring at me with a look I’ve never seen before. He’s looking at me as if he’s already gone.

I’m on my second cup of strong and bitter black coffee. I don’t deserve creamer.

I still go to the chemo appointments, I just don’t go upstairs. I sit in the lobby and read through work emails until I know Bella’s finished

But you know, Dannie, because it’s in the lymph, it’s really about containment.

I’m glad,” he says. “Because either way, you’re stuck with me.”

And I, I want to share all my love, with you. No one else will do