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.

I heard this expression once: Each time someone dies, a library burns. I'm watching it burn right to the ground.

He doesn't have to say it, i feel it too; it's not subtle - like every bell for miles and miles is ringing at once, loud and clanging, hungry ones and tiny, happy, chiming ones, all of them sounding off in this moment. I put my hands around his neck, pull him to me, and then he's kissing me hard and so deep, and i am flying, sailing, soaring.

Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.

The. World. Is. Not. A. Safe. Place.

You have to see the miracles for there to be miracles.

It's time for second chances. It's time to remake the world.