and I've always known it, the way I love a song I hear for the first time, even before I know all the words, the way I love my favorite color, and the way that the train would speed past my bedroom when it was very quiet and I'd feel it in my stomach rushing through me. I love you in a way that I've never felt needed to be said.

Fate, I think, is a thief.

It taught that there are three versions of things: the one I see in my mind, and the one that carries onto the paper, and then what it ultimately becomes.

She’s a commodity in a sea of broken girls.

Maybe hope isn't the most dangerous thing a person can have. Maybe love is.

The months fall to shards at my feet.

She's been conned, ruined, left for dead, and she's not going to forgive any of it. She will soldier on, if only out of spite.