But if you do believe, then you already know all about magic.

He looked at me like I was beautiful.

I wish I could close my eyes and be blown into dust and nothingness, feel all my thoughts disperse like dandelion fluff drifting off on the wind. But his hands keep pulling me back: into the alley, and Portland, and a world that has suddenly stopped making sense.

No guest rooms.” I shake my head resolutely. “I want to be in a room room. A lived-in room.

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

I keep having the urge to cross my hands over my chest, to cover up my breasts, to hide. I'm suddenly aware of how pale I look in the sunshine, and how many moles I have spotting up and down my chest, and I just know he's looking at me thinking i'm wrong or deformed. But the he breathes, 'Beautiful' and when his eyes meet mine I know that he really, truly means it.

And even though I'm standing in the middle of the biggest crowd I've ever seen in my life, I suddenly feel very alone.