He danced on the knife’s edge between awareness and sleep. When he dreamt like this, he was a king. The world was his to bend. His to burn.

His heart hurt with the wanting of it, the hurt no less painful for being difficult to explain.

I didn't want normal until I didn't have it anymore

Sam reached his hand toward mine and I automatically put my fingers in his.

I was against felonies when a misdemeanor would do.

It was as if I had thought all along I was a complete picture and he had revealed I was a puzzle and had taken me apart and put me back together again.

There was something awful about terror trapped behind silence.