It was like autumn, looking at her. it was like driving up north to see the colors.
To start with, look at all the books.
The trees like lungs filling with air. My sister, the mean one, pulling my hair.
Just like ice, lives crack, too. Personalities. Identities.
She understood that her heart operated on its own instructions, that she had no control over it or, indeed, anything else.
I spend most of every day writing. I like to write every day if I can. I don't start extremely early.