Sometimes I feel as though there are two me's, one coasting directly on top of the other: the superficial me, who nods when she's supposed to nod and says what she's supposed to say, and some other, deeper part, the part that worries and dreams... Most of the time they move along in sync and I hardly notice the split, but sometimes it feels as though I'm two whole different people and I could rip apart at any second.

The worst is knowing I can't tell anybody what's happening -or what's happened- to me. Not even my mom.

Then I think of the dark, and the lights, and the roaring, and Juliet, and before I can think of anything else, I fight the final few steps to the door and step out into the cold, where the rain is still coming down like shards of moonlight, or like steel.

Are you sure you can't dematerialize? Not even a little?" "I'm sure.

I want to know." His words are a whisper, barely audible. "I want to know with you.

They told us love was a disease. They told us it would kill us in the end. For the very first time I realize, that this, too, might also be a lie.

Because?' I prompt 'Because I'm sorry, but I can't help it, and I really need to kiss you right now.