If bad luck knows who you are, become someone else.

People die, I think, but your relationship with them doesn't. It continues and is ever-changing.

This is what I want: I want to grab my brother’s hand and run back through time, losing years like coats falling from our shoulders.

We were all heading for each other on a collision course, no matter what. Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.

I've no use for talking, would just as soon store paper clips in my mouth.

grief is a house where the chairs have forgotten how to hold us the mirrors how to reflect us the walls how to contain us grief is a house that disappears each time someone knocks at the door or rings the bell a house that blows into the air at the slightest gust that buries itself deep in the ground while everyone is sleeping grief is a house where no on can protect you where the younger sister will grow older than the older one where the doors no longer let you in or out

Let me just unsubscribe to my own mind already, because I don't get any of it.