That's what I love about poetry. The more abstract, the better. The stuff where you're not sure what the poet's talking about. You may have an idea, but you can't be sure. Not a hundred percent. Each word, specifically chosen, could have a million different meanings.

Two steps behind her, I say her name. "Skye.

I swear, guys in groups are capable of the stupidest things." "Like war," Kellan says, heaping napkins and ketchup packets onto her tray. "And jumping off rooftops." "And lighting their farts on fire," she says.

When you write a book for publication, you're writing it for other people to read.

Every reader is different. There's no book that's inappropriate for every person, but there are people who cannot handle everything.

And here he is again, yet things feel like they'll never be as easy between us as they once were.

How in the world was I alone? Because I wanted to be. That's all I can say. It's all that makes sense to me.