In a story, you can turn to the front and begin again and everyone lives once more. That doesn't work in real life. And I love my real people the most.

Some things are created to be together.

And I laugh at myself for thinking I could touch the sky.

We can either try to change everything or just make the most of whatever time we have.

I'm just a butterfly, a mourning cloak, sealed inside a cocoon with blnd eyes and stiky wings. And suddenly I wonder if the cocoons sometimes do not open, if the butterfly inside is ever simply not strong enough to break through.

Teens find out a lot from other teens.

We could have been happy. I know that, and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know.