It was my fifth grade teacher who introduced the idea that writing could be more than a hobby for me.

It was a terrible decision, and I confess I'd make it again.

A strange thing, words. Once they're said, it's hard to imagine they're untrue.

But I know all the things you're too sweet to know.

I start trying to stay unconscious. The problem with this is that no amount of willpower can change the reality.

I like the idea of something greater than us. We destroy things with our curiosity. We shatter with our best intentions. We are no closer to perfection than we were one hundred years ago, or five hundred.

Every star has been set in the sky. We mistakenly think they were put there for us.