It is easy to forget how full the world is of people, full to bursting, and each of them imaginable and consistently misimagined.

And so that is the question I leave you with in this final: What is your cause for hope?

All hurt is brain hurt.

In the ensuing silence, I have time to contemplate the word cute— how dismissive it is, how it’s the equivalent of calling someone little, how it makes a person into a baby, how the word is a neon sign burning through the dark reading, “Feel Bad About Yourself.

Have you really read all those books in your room?” Alaska laughing- “Oh God no. I’ve maybe read a third of ‘em. But I’m going to read them all. I call it my Life’s Library. Every summer since I was little, I’ve gone to garage sales and bought all the books that looked interesting. So I always have something to read.

I can't be you. You can't be me. You can imagine another well—but never quite perfectly, you know?

What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person.