Some people, they get down in a hole so deep they can't figure out what to hold on to.

This is what I like about photographs. They're proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect.

Maybe you had to leave in order to really miss a place; maybe you had to travel to figure out how beloved your starting point was.

When feeling came back, in a storm of color and force and sensation, the most you could do was hold on to the person beside you and hope you could weather it. Alex closed her eyes and expected the worst-but it wasn't a bad thing; it was just a different thing. A messier one, more complicated one. She hesitated, and then she kissed Patrick back, willing to concede that you might have to lose control before you could find what you'd been missing.

I used to think I'd be just like them when I grew up, but I am not. And the thing is, somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting to be like them, anyway.

When was the last time someone read aloud to you? Probably when you were a child, and if you think back, you'll remember how safe you felt, tucked under the covers, or curled in someone's arms, as a story was spun around you like a web.

Things don't always look as they seem.