I hate skin; I hate bones and bodies. I want to curl up inside of him and be carried there forever.

My former people were not totally wrong. Love is a kind of possession. It’s a poison. And if Alex no longer loves me, I can’t bear to think that he might love somebody else.

At the same time I know that it’s not really their fault, at least not completely. I did my part too. I did it on a hundred different days and in a thousand different ways, and I know it. But this makes the anger worse, not better.

The tunnels may be long, and twisted, and dark; but you are supposed to go through them.

Amazing how hope lives. Without air or water, with hardly anything at all to nurture it.

His eyes are the color of honey. These are the eyes I remember from my dreams.

I wonder if it's ever really possible to know the truth about someone else, or if the best we can do is just stumble into each other, heads down, hoping to avoid collision. I...wonder how many people are clutching secrets like little fists, little rocks sitting in the pits of their stomachs. All of them, maybe.