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507 pages, Paperback
First published December 20, 2012
"Yeah, it [looks amazing]," I said, dropping my bag and drinking [the flat] in ... "But how are we going to afford–"
[Sally] waved an airy hand.
"Don't worry about it, you can pay me back. Now get some glasses my friend, Mr. Bubbles is in the fridge."
And there you had it: whichever way you looked at it, she owned me. Perhaps it was the way I liked it.
Do the people we love always remain part of us, even when they've absented themselves from our lives? I like to think that they do—that anyone we truly love changes some part of us forever, like waves pounding against a cliff until its shape is indelibly altered. Or is that no more than wishful thinking, a futile attempt to dodge the reality that however much you love a person, you can never guarantee they won't get ripped away from you? There are only two letters separating love from loss—the first always contains the threat of the second.