We do an epically bad job of acknowledging one another's work and checking our sources.

I hadn’t been in proper school in three years. My parents were my two best friends. My third best friend was an author who did not know I existed.

You could hear the wind in the leaves, and on that wind traveled the screams of the kids on the playground in the distance, little kids figuring out how to be alive, how to navigate a world that wasn't made for them by navigating a playground that was.

We are now as I wished we could be then.

I think maybe I know why,' she finally said. 'Why?' 'Maybe all the strings inside him broke,' she said.

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

She had the kind of eyes that predisposed you to supporting her every endeavor.