The guy thought he was Mick Jagger. I felt bad for him.

High school sucked. It was a universal truth, and whoever said these were supposed to be the best years of your life was probably drunk or delusional.

Laws of physics laws of love of time and space and the (in)between place (in)between you and me and where we are lost and looking looking and lost

bent like the branches of a tree broken like the pieces of my heart cracked like the seventeenth moon shattered like the glass in the window the day we met

I could remember the details as if it had happened yesterday, even though it was hard to believe some of it had happened at all. Funerals were tricky like that. And life, I guess. The important parts you blocked out altogether, but the random, slanted moments haunted you, replaying over and over in your mind.

I hadn't fallen through his arms. He was ripped from mine.

Obviously the whole Wayward thing hasn't been explained to you properly. You don't have any superpowers. You can't leap over tall buildings in a single bound or fight Dark Casters with your magic cat. Basically, you're a glorified tour guide who's no better equipped to face a bunch of Dark Casters than Mary P. over here -Ridley