But I had a feeling I wasn't supposed to find her that way. She was not a needle. This was not a haystack. We were people, and people had ways of finding each other.

Because that's the thing about mean people: They make you think that the world will never work, that there are divides that you will fall into if you approach. It takes a whole lot of good people to fill in the breach created by a single mean one.

Let’s make plans,” I ventured. And Sofia smiled and said, “No, let’s leave it to chance.

When I am with you, there is nowhere else I'd rather be. And I am a person who always wants to be somewhere else.

It would be too easy to say that I feel invisible. Instead, I feel painfully visible, and entirely ignored.

Is that all we need? Can the way we say each other's names encompass all our history, all our love, all our fear, all our fights, all our reunions, all of what we know about each other, all of what we don't know?

having someone think of me that way was like discovering a new window in the room i'd lived in all my life.