Gift of time in me enclosed the future suddenly exposed
I could live inside a G major chord, with Grace, if she was willing.
Boys like him didn't die; they got bronzed and installed outside public libraries.
To Grace, these were the things that mattered: my hands on her cheeks, my lips on her mouth. The fleeting touches that meant I loved her.
I think that whenever a book is not a challenge, I'm telling the wrong story.
It was mint and memories and the past and the future and she felt as if she’d done this before and already she longed to do it again.