I want you here. I don't care if it's a hundred degrees and every blade of grass dies. Without you, none of that matters to me.

I wanted to find a place to hide from all of it, where the nightmares and the rivers and reality couldn't find me. For me, that place was always inside a book.

If this was a movie, we would've sat down at the table with the guys and they would have learned some kind of valuable lesson, like not to judge people by how they look, or that being different is okay. And Lena would've learned that all jocks weren't stupid and shallow. It always seemed to work in movies, but this wasn't a movie. This was Gatlin, which severely limited what could happen.

The poems are all wrong. It's a bang, a really big bang. Not a whimper. And sometimes gold can stay.

We are given to the great, for great purpose, to great ends. We are given to the grave, for grave purposes, to grave ends.

moments bleed together, no span to time

Oblivion eyes on a cereal box, the warm blinds of a father lost and last to know lost and last to love last boy lost you can't see even a bubble once it's popped