So something had begun, and now she could not stop it. Twin threads ran through her: fear and excitement. She could leave this place today. She could start a new life somewhere else.

She had died at age twelve, and by now she was nothing but the memory of love-- nothing, now, but bones.

They turned a distracted gaze on the world, wide-eyed, somehow, and questioning.

His love for her was so deeply woven with resentment that he could not untangle the two.

You can't stop time. You can't capture light. You can only turn your face up and let it rain down.

A moment was not a single moment at all, but rather an infinite number of different moments, depending on who was seeing things and how.

Short on money, long on hope