All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter into another.
We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom. We lived in the gaps between the stories.
The longer life goes on, the fewer those around you to challenge your account of things, to remind you that life is not as you tell it, but as you remember it.
