I didn't know love felt like this, like turning into brightness.

I suddenly feel left out of a future that isn't even going to happen.

I gasp, because Isn't that just exactly what I've been doing too: writing poems and scattering them to the winds with the same hope as Gram that someone, someday, somewhere might understand who I am, who my sister was, and what happened to us.

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

We wish with our hands, that's what we do as artists.

... every available inch of his face busts into a smile - whoa. Has he blown into our school on a gust of wind from another world? The guy looks unabashedly jack-o'-lantern happy, which couldn't be more foreign to the sullen demeanor most of us strove to perfect.

I wish my shadow would get up and walk beside me.