So much of the literature we had to read for high school English class was filled with victimized, tragic, symbolic women who spurred the plot forward with their inevitable shunning/death/shunning-followed-by-pregnancy-followed-by-death timelines.

How can my ankles and arms be obscene?

He frowns. "A dance with the carnivorous Felicity? Why? Has she eaten all the other available gentlemen?

Why is it that some secrets can drown you while some pull you close to others in a way you never want to lose?

One can never go back. One always has to move forward.

Because it is morning, it is morning, and there is so much to see.

The wind picks up. It sends leaves scurrying for cover until a softer breeze blows through, settling them down again as if to say, Shhh, there, there, it's all right. One leaf still dances in the air. It spins higher and higher, defying gravity and logic, stretching for something just out of reach. It shall have to fall, of course. Eventually. But for now, I hold my breath, willing it to keep going, taking comfort in its struggle.