Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.
The architecture of my sister's thinking, now phantom. I fall down stairs that are nothing but air.
Life’s a freaking mess… there’s not one truth ever, just a bunch of stories, all going on at once, in our heads, in our hearts, all getting in the way of each other. It’s all a beautiful calamitous mess.
It's as if someone vacuumed up the horizon while we were looking the other way.
I could step out of this sad life like it's an old sorry dress.
... 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.