It's a lot easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it. This would still take time. - Markus Zusak

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this.

Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.

It’s the leftover humans. The survivors. They’re the ones I can’t stand to look at, although on many occasions I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprises. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs. Which in turn brings me to the subject I am telling you about tonight, or today, or whatever the hour and color. It’s the story of one of those perpetual survivors –an expert at being left behind.