If you let hope inside, it takes you over. It feeds on your insides and uses your bones to climb and grow. Eventually it becomes the thing that is your bones, that holds you together. Holds you up until you don't know how to live without it anymore. To pull it out of you would kill you entirely.

Theres nothing like reading about a world that feels dead to throw your own beautiful, colorful life into sharp relief.

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

Once you want something, everything changes.

This is a difficult balance, telling the truth: how much to share, how much to keep, which truths will wound but not ruin, which will cut too deep to heal.

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

Because I feel no anger toward my mother. Only loss, and loss is a feeling you can’t fight your way out of as easily.