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

Perhaps... you love too fiercely.

And if I have to die trying, I will get out of here.

We'll squeeze every second that we can from our lives, because we're young, and we have plenty of years to grow. We'll grow until we're braver. We'll grow until our bones ache and our skin wrinkles and our hair goes white, and until our hearts decide, at last, that it's time to stop.

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

Eventually I realize that I am holding on to him just as tightly as he holds on to me. And here we are: two small dying things, as the world ends around us like falling autumn leaves.

Did you tell freedom hello for me?