My life is flashing lights and pointing fingers and uninvited visitors. Inches away, humans flatten their little hands against the wall of glass that separates us.The glass says you are this and we are that and that is how it will always be.

I like colorful tales with black beginnings and stormy middles and cloudless blue-sky endings. But any story will do.

Humans waste words. They toss them like banana peels and leave them to rot. Everyone knows the peels are the best part.

Her eyes hold the pale moon in them, the way a still pond holds stars.

My favorite color is rainbow.

Yes," he said. "You were strong. You were brave. You were good. You mattered.

What's love? Something that lasts a week or a month and that's all you can except? Or is it just that some loves have a short shelf life? You know, like yogurt: after a week or two they go bad. And how do you recognize the other kind of love, the kind that isn't like yogurt? The kind that's more like... I don't know, like peanut butter, that lasts forever and always tastes good?