Her lips tarried at mine. Baiting each other with the warmth of our breath, barely grazing, detouring, then connecting.

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

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

You're more than a story.

I was grateful for cereal --- the only food that my tummy, riddled by pangs of infatuation, could handle.

Sometimes, upon waking, the residual dream can be more appealing that reality, and one is reluctant to give it up. For a while, you feel like a ghost -- Not fully materialized, and unable to manipulate your surroundings. Or else, it is the dream that haunts you. You wait with the promise of the next dream.

and yet I feel that the most real home I'll ever have is the space where our roads merged and traveled along together... for a time.