I hunger to commit the act of touch. - Margaret Atwood

You want the truth, of course. You want me to put two and two together. But two and two doesn’t necessarily get you the truth. Two and two equals a voice outside the window. Two and two equals the wind. The living bird is not its labeled bones.

These things sneak up on him for no reason, these flashes of irrational happiness. It's probably a vitamin deficiency.

Don't cry anymore, she tells herself. Just do one thing at a time. Get from hour to hour and day to day like a frog jumping on lily pads.