I see an ocean that’s spilled out of a wineglass, its body clear and sparkling and folding over itself. I see a ribbon of sand.

I think, in this strange world of beautiful things, there may be some humanity after all.

The sullen boy sitting before me is not my husband, and the girl he is fretting over isn't me, will never be me.

Ah, love. That’s what the world has lost. There’s no more love, only the illusion of it.

There is warmth shooting through my broken body where there should be pain, and I put my arms around the back of his neck and I hold on to him. I hold on because you never know in this place when something good will be taken away.

Dystopian, by definition, promises a darker story.

I had this feeling like the solution to everything would be down there if only I could dig through all those clouds.