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Who are we? Do we belong together do we share a direction? Do we have something in common? Are others on their way to reunite with a long-lost love? On their way to becoming a group of two, finally together after far too long apart? And is that what I am headed for?

There has always been someone to miss. Think of that. Think of all the people who miss someone, and who go on living anyway. Day after day. It's manageable. Think of that. Of course you can be happy in the meantime.

"What's happened to your girls? Forgive me, but they seem cold, distant, hard. What's going on with them?"

"They've suddenly acquired their complete and absolute freedom," I said softly, my heart aching.

Most of us are poets, she said. It's just a question of how it comes out.

I could see myself in the mirror in the wardrobe door. I looked terribly sad, although I didn't feel it. I wasn't feeling very much of anything. Most of us are poets? What does that say about everyone else

No one of us sees ourselves very clearly. We are too close to our bodies, fitting almost perfectly inside of them.

So much of the way a life goes is predicated on the way we use these two simple words: yes and no. There was no rehearsal and how could Sufien know that saying yes was the wrong choice.

He was so young, he didn't realize that paradise is simply being seventeen, when everything is still possible, and when the naive soul finds itself in the body of a man, bound for the big and beautiful world back there on the Orient Express, where everyone was speaking French.