Passages from the manuscript

"What brings you here?" he asked. "My grandfather just died," I answered quietly. "And yet, you were close to him?" I shook my head. "No." He paused, then asked, "So why are you crying?" "Because sometimes I think about it… people die."

"I want to be a writer." I said, my words sharp, as if they carried the weight of everything I hadn't said before. "And what kind of books do you want to write?" "I want to write about my life. About everything I've lived through. The pain, the love, the moments that… what it means to be human."

"Maybe I'm not running from anything," he said quietly. "Maybe I'm just looking for something I lost a long time ago." "Like what?" I asked gently. "Hope. Or something that makes me want to live again."

"Maybe broken people find each other for a reason." "Maybe to remind each other that we're not broken," I said.

"Maybe pain doesn't disappear… to try again." "Maybe we're that reminder for each other."

"That might be even harder," he said quietly. "Knowing he's still breathing… just not with you." "Yeah. It's like grieving a ghost that still walks."

"When I look at the moon, I wonder… how we're under the same sky, but living completely different stories."

"I think," he continued, "What I'm really searching for… is a reason to believe in something again."