Loss Could Be Used As A Measure

I Stared At Her Black Hair. It Was Shiny Like The Promises In Magazines.

She Didn't Even Have To Smile, And She Rarely Did Outside Her House--it Was The Eyes, Her Dancer's Carriage, The Way She Seemed To Deliberate Over The Smallest Movement Of Her Body.

In This Deeply Nuanced Portrait Of An American Family, Bret Anthony Johnston Fearlessly Explores The Truth Behind A Mythic Happy Ending. In Remember Me Like This, Johnston Presents An Incisive Dismantling Of An All-too-comforting Fallacy: That In Being Found We Are No Longer Lost.

It's Very Weird To Succeed At Thirty-nine Years Old And Realize That In The Midst Of Your Failure, You Were Slowly Building The Life That You Wanted Anyway.

There’s No Condition One Adjusts To So Quickly As A State Of War.