It's not my fault I can't be like you, okay? I don't get up in the morning thinking the world is one big, shiny, happy place, okay? That's just not how I work. I don't think I can be fixed.

At a certain point your brain stops to rationalize things. At a certain point it gives up, shuts off, shuts down.

That's the thing: We didn't really care. A world without love is also a world without stakes.

Are you sure that being like everybody else will make you happy?" "I don't know any other way." "Let me show you." And then we're kissing. Or at least, I think we're kissing—I've only seen it done a couple of times, quick closed-mouth pecks at weddings or on formal occasions. But this isn't like anything I've ever seen, or imagined, or even dreamed: this is like music or dancing but better than both.

For a moment, my heart aches for him. I should never have asked him to join me here; I should never have asked him to cross.

Most of the time-- 99 percent of the time-- you just don't know how and why the threads are looped together, and that's okay. Do a good thing and something bad happens. Do a bad thing and something good happens. Do nothing and everything explodes.

Things would get difficult again. But that was okay too. The bravery was in moving forward, no matter what.