What if love wasn't the act of finding what you were missing but the give-and-take that made you both match?

Words got in the way. The things we felt the hardest--like what it was like to have a boy touch you as if you were made of light, or what it meant to be the only person in the room who wasn't noticed--weren't sentences; they were knots in the wood of our bodies, places where our blood flowed backward. If you asked me, not that anyone ever did, the only words worth saying were I'm sorry.

But once you throw a stone, there are ripples in the pond, even if you remove the rock.

I was one of the first authors to have an active website. I'm totally obsessed with technology. I'm always looking for ways to connect with my readers. I answer all my fan mail.

If history has a habit of repeating itself, doesn't someone have to stay behind to shout out a warning?

His hand is cool on my cheek as he paints a tear beneath my left eye, dark blue and swollen with sorrow.

I drew it over my skin like a violins bow, No one would ever hear the song of my shame.