One place exists as their interpretation of it. For the people living and thriving inside of it, it's another place.

I'm always wondering if he'll return. Sometimes I pray that he doesn't. And sometimes I hope he will. I wish on falling stars and eyelashes. Absence isn't solid the way death is. It's fluid, like language. And it hurts so much...so, so much.

Time comes to us softly, slowly. It sits beside us for a while. Then, long before we are ready, it moves on.

There's me in every character I put on the pages.

I think people are sometime reluctant to read outside of their own race. This is heartbreaking.

Mama was always saying I was a brain snob, that I didn't like people who didn't think. I didn't know if that was snobby. Who wanted to walk around explaining everything to people all the time?

Sometimes you do have to laugh to keep from crying. And sometimes the world feels all right and good and kind of like it's becoming nice again around you. And you realize it, and realize how happy you are in it, and you just gotta laugh.