what a treacherous thing to let someone believe a person is more than a person. That's always seemed so ridiculous to me, that people want to be around someone because they're pretty. It's like picking your breakfeast cereals based on color instead of taste. It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world. It is easy to forget how full the world is of people, full to bursting, and each of them imaginable and consistently misimagined.