The Gunners

He wondered if she intended to spend the rest of her life in a static and unchanging version of grief, these flowers collecting dust but never dying. Never even fading

“I have a bad, sad feeling in me sometimes.” His father said, “Me, too.” And knowing that his father shared this had been such a great comfort to Mikey that over time he began to cherish that shadowy feeling, which proved to be as sure as the tides, as persistent and reliable as a dear friend, as real and as much a part of his universe as the sun

That word love . . . it was scary and outlandish to him. But what was life if not a long series of scary and outlandish things you did and said and asked of your heart, so you could carry the wild and unreasonable hope that someday someone would hold your face and say, You are perfect. You can rest now. You were always perfect to me. Not because you were even remotely close to perfect, or brave, or strong, or even very good, but because you had been very dear friends for a very long time