i suppose that's the secret, if you're ever wishing for things to back the way they were. You just have to look up.

Even the greatest movements on earth, have their beginnings with something small.

But...books are so much more. Some of them are webs; you can feel your way along their threads, but just barely, into strange and dark corners. Some of them are balloons bobbing up through the sky: totally self-contained, and unreachable, but beautiful to watch. And some of them―the best ones―are doors.

I reach out and grab her wrist. It feels impossibly tiny in my hand, like this one time I found a baby bird near goose Point, and I picked it up and it died there, taking its final gasping fluttering breaths in my palm.

you have to understand. i wasn't just thinking of me. i was thinking of her, too.

Don't worry about what you're writing or whether it's good or even whether it makes sense.

I love you. They can't take it away.