There is something about libraries, old libraries, that makes them seem almost sacred. There's a smell of paper and must and binding stuff. It's like all the books are fighting against decay, against turning into dust, and at the same time fighting for attention.

Losing people you love affects you. It is buried inside of you and becomes this big, deep hole of ache. It doesn't magically go away, even when you stop officially mourning.

Sometimes that whys aren't knowable, so you just have to ignore the whys, and just focus on what is and move on.

That's what people who love you do: they hold you and lie. They tell you that you're worthy, that everything will be all right, and they do that even when you both know without a doubt that this is not true, that is it nowhere near the truth.

He has an armload of irises and daisies and tulips and he presents them to me. I didn't know what kind of flowers you like.I like them all.Yeah?Yeah.He tries to hand them to me, but then remembers the cast. I'll put them in water.Betty swoops in the room ridiculously fast and she grabs the flowers out of Nick's hands. I'll take care of them. You lovebirds just sit on the couch and think swooning things at each other.

There is no easy off button for your brain.It would be really really nice if there were.

Friends help friends fight pixies.