Pressed against her I can hear eternity -- hollow, lonely spaces and currents that churn ceaselessly, and the fallen snow welcomes the falling snow with a whispered "Hush".

You have so many layers, that you can peel away a few, and everyone's so shocked or impressed that you're baring your soul, while to you it's nothing, because you know you've twenty more layers to go.

You're more than a story.

Something about being rejected at Church Camp felt so much more awful than being rejected at school.

I love the sea because it is boundless.

Which is scarier-- lust or temptation?

At night, lying on your back and staring at the falling snow, it's easy to imagine oneself soaring through the stars.