Most of us won't see one another after graduation, and even if we do it will be different. We'll be different. We'll be adults--cured, tagged and labeled and paired and identified and placed neatly on our life path, perfectly round marbles set to roll down even, well-defined slopes.

Everything ends, people move on, they don't look back. It's how they should be.

The priests and the scientists are right about one thing: At our heart, at our base, we are no better than animals.

I'm mesmerized by the way his fingers move confidently along her skin, as though her body is his to reat and touch and tend to. She was mine before she was yours: The words are there, unexpectedly, surging from my throat to my tongue. I swallow them back.

We can never understand. We can only try, fumbling our way through the tunneled places, reaching for light.

How can someone have the power to shatter you to dust--and also to make you feel so whole?

Amor deliria nervosa. The deadliest of all deadly things.