IT happened. There is no avoiding it, no forgetting. No running away, or flying, or burying, or hiding.

It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts except the small smiles and blushes that flash across the room like tiny sparrows.

We turned us into wintergirls, and when she tried to leave, I pulled her back into the snow because I was afraid to be alone.

I want to go to sleep and not wake up, but I don't want to die. I want to eat like a normal person eats, but I need to see my bones or I will hate myself even more and I might cut my heart out or take every pill that was ever made.

You’re not dead, but you’re not alive, either. You’re a wintergirl, Lia-Lia, caught in between the worlds. You’re a ghost with a beat- ing heart. Soon you’ll cross the border and be with me. I’m so stoked. I miss you wicked.

I knit the afternoon away. I knit reasons for Elijah to come back. I knit apologies for Emma. I knit angry knots and slipped stitches for every mistake I ever made, and I knit wet, swollen stitches that look awful. I knit the sun down.

Death is funny, when you think about it. Everybody does it, but nobody knows how, exactly how.