"Everything was heightened the way it always is when summer is slipping away to fall, and you're younger than eighteen, and all you can do is suck your cherry Icee and let the chlorine sting your nose, all the way up into the pockets behind your eyes, and snap your towel at the pretty girl with the sunburn, and hope to do it all again come June."
"Then it comes to me: Yes I’ll die, so will everyone, so has everyone. It’s what we have in common. And for a moment, the sorrow ceased, and I saw that it hadn’t been sorrow after all, but loneliness,"
Marie Howe, from Magdalene: Poems; “October”