They couldn’t have known that even this was a lie—that we never really choose, not entirely. We are always being pushed and squeezed down one road or another. We have no choice but to step forward, and then step forward again, and then step forward again; suddenly we find ourselves on a road we haven’t chosen at all. But maybe happiness isn’t in the choosing. Maybe it’s in the fiction, in the pretending: that wherever we have ended up is where we intended to be all along.

Everywhere he touches is fire. My whole body is burning up, the two of us becoming twin points of the same bright white flame.

You can build walls all the way to the sky and I will find a way to fly above them.

This is what we are made for: promises, pledges, and sworn oaths of obedience.

i feel like a curtain has dropped away and i'm seeing people for who they really are, different, and sharp, and unknowable.

I cry for everything I abandoned and because I, too, have been left behind -- by Alex, by my mom, by time that has cut through our worlds and separated us.

But from the beginning, I knew that in a world where destiny was dead, I was destined, forever, to love him. Even though he didn't - though he couldn't - ever love me back.