She is everything. And if she is everything, maybe that's answer enough.

I know I'm not going to say good-bye. And if these staggering refugees want to help, if they think they see something bigger here than a boy chasing a girl, then they can help, and we'll see what happens when we say yes while the rigor mortis world screams no.

There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, and it's up to you how you respond to it.

I notice faint scars on her wrists and forearms, thin lines too symmetrical to be accidents.

My friend "M" says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile, because your lips have rotted off.

You know things are moving. You're changing, you fellow Dead are changing, the world is ready for something miraculous. What are we waiting for?

She is Living and I'm Dead, but I'd like to believe we're both human. Call me an idealist.