I am in a spot where I can neither be what I always am nor turn into what I could be.

My heart feels not so much in my chest as in my hands. I am carrying it along swiftly, as though I have become the messenger for what is going on inside me.

It’s too good, she is. She wants to find the good in others, and sometimes her way of finding that is to trust them, hoping she’ll not be disappointed but she sometimes is.

As soon as she says this, I realize she is just like everyone else, and wish I was back at home so that all the things I do not understand could be the same as...