Something about the circus stirs their souls, and they ache for it when it is absent.

I tried to explain as much as I could," Poppet says. "I think I made an analogy about cake." "Well, that must have worked," Widget says. "Who doesn't like a good cake analogy?

It is likely to make us think we are not caged. We cannot feel the bars unless we push against them.

The rain increases and umbrellas sprout like mushrooms amongst the graves.

I suppose there will never be a lack of things to say, of stories to be told and shared.

The past stays on you the way powdered sugar stays on your fingers. Some people can get rid of it but it’s still there, the events and things that pushed you to where you are now.

Trapped in silence, Marco traces apologies and adorations across Celia's body with his tongue. Mutely expressing all the things he cannot speak aloud. He finds other ways to tell her, his fingers leaving faint trails of ink in their wake. He savors every sound he elicits from her. The entire room trembles as they come together. And though there are a great many fragile objects contained within it, nothing breaks.