I think my writing has become "cleaner."

My chest feels full of glitter and helium, the way it used to when I was little and riding my father's shoulders at twilight, when I knew that if I held up my hands and spread my fingers like a net, I could catch the coming stars.

And if your parents have you for a reason, then that reason better exist. Because once it's gone, so are you.

Who I am, and what I am capable of doing has always managed to surprise me.

He rises over me, a second sun, and fills me with light and heat.

I can get 400 pages down the road and still not know the answer. What I do know is that I have really examined every facet of the situation, and I may not have changed my opinion but I have definitely forced myself to explore why it's my opinion.

The first person you fell in love with stole your heart. The first person you made love with stole your soul. And if these were one and the same, you were doomed.