After all, the only way to communicate is to find someone who can comprehend; the only way to be forgiven is to find someone who is willing to forgive.

I watch her do the simplest things: brushing her hair into a ponytail, feeding the dog, tying Sophie's shoelaces, and I want to tell her what she means to me, but I never actually say the words. After all, to acknowledge Delia as a drug, I'd have to face the fact that one day I might have to go without her and this I can't do.

Everyone deserves a happy ending.

If it is possible to die of grief then why on earth can't someone be healed by happiness?

Hopefully, more and more people will come to understand that a child who's "different from" is not one who is "lesser than."

Maybe the reason I've never died in this story is that I've never had something worth dying for before.

What if what you know isn’t what people want to hear?