My face responds without authorization from my brain, so the resulting smile feels like the biggest, most unguarded, goofiest smile I’ve ever unleashed in my entire life. I didn’t even know my face could do this. It’s like there were hidden zippers in my cheeks. Jesus. This must be what feelings are. This is why people write poems! I get it now. I get it, and I want more.

...I said I was sorry.” “Be sorry, then. Just be sorry somewhere else.

Then there were things-- epic, terrible things-- that he didn't tell her but skirted around, like caressing the edges of a wound, hesitant, testing for pain.

If only it were that easy to let go of hate. Just relax your face.

Your heart is not wrong. Your heart is your strength. You don't have to be ashamed.

Bitter, bitter, this desolation of angels.

Anyway, since when are you shy? Just talk to him already!' ' 'And say what? Nice fiddling, handsome man?' 'Absolutely.