Who becomes you? No one. No one should become me. When I die, I don't want my body or soul inhabited. I wouldn't wish me on anyone.

Stop trying to save me. You couldn't then; you can't now.

Miracles don't happen. You make them happen. They're not wishes or dreams or candles on a cake. They're not impossible. Reality is real. It's totally and completely under my control.

I close my eyes and black out the day. The exhaustion of living through it, surviving.

That earns him a smack with my book bag. "Ow." He clutches his arm. "What do you have in there? Books?" A grin snakes across his face. "I like my women feisty." He adds, "I like my broken.

You won't know until it's over. You won't find me in time.

Yeah, I hear the truth. But this is my truth.