But how could anyone who's ever seen a summer - big explosion of green and skies lit up electric with splashy sunsets, a riot of flowers and wind that smells like honey - pick the snow?
He looked at me like I was beautiful.
Hearts are fragile things. That's why you have to be so careful.
This is what hatred is. It will feed you and at the same time turn you to rot.
They didn’t get me, I should have said. They saved me.
The worst is knowing I can't tell anybody what's happening -or what's happened- to me. Not even my mom.