Canadian slasher movie with Leonard Cohen in a hockey mask.

If anything, you could probably be a little harder on yourself.

Lost in a forest of assumptions.

We were in deep shit, but I was too caught up, strung out, beat down to see it. It was the air we breathed and the ocean we drowned in. Today, looking back, I’m afraid for that young couple. I’m afraid for all of us.

In an early draft she referred to him as “recessive to the point of nonexistent,” but then later edited him out.

An unfinished novel, left along a road, picked apart by crows.

Finally, she said, after all these years, I feel truly seen. At this point the problem is, I want to be unseen.

A funeral in the rain, attended by five people who knew him online.

The things that always made me cringe are what I miss the most. Awkward or naive comments that were evidence of her sweet nature, eager to engage, that I wish I had embraced.

She was his truth, his bellwether and moral compass. Without her he was lost, but also he was just plain lost.

We had no money then, and what little we had we spent on drugs. Back when we were still friends. Before I annoyed you, and my hair looked like shit.

They expected nothing, for which they were grateful.

Isn’t it about time you drop that veneer of confident expertise and admit you don’t know anything? You can barely keep your underwear clean, for godsake.

What would you do if you could go back in time?
Probably die of embarrassment.