luckily, tiny texts me every five minutes or so. i don't know how he does it without getting caught in class. maybe he hides the phone in the folds of his stomach or something.

Sometimes the space between knowing what to do and actually doing it is a very short walk. Other times it is an impossible expanse.

Music is everywhere. It’s in the air between us, waiting to be sung.

This is the trap of having something to live for: Everything else seems lifeless.

I want you to be honest with me. Even if it hurts. Although I would prefer for it not to hurt.

We wish we could have been there for you. We didn't have many role models of our own--we latched on to the foolish love of Oscar Wilde and the well-versed longing of Walt Whitman because nobody else was there to show us an untortured path. We were going to be your role models. We were going to give you art and music and confidence and shelter and a much better world. Those who survived lived to do this. But we haven't been there for you. We've been here. Watching as you become the role models.

Eventually she fell asleep, but I kept the phone against my ear, lulled by her breathing, and her breathing again in the background. And yes, it felt like home. Like everything belonged exactly where it was.