...sensation of rightness, of saying the right thing atthe right time to the right person, that too-raresensation of having the right thing to say and believing it.

I'd found heaven and grabbed it as tightly as I could, but it was unraveling, an insubstantial thread sliding between my fingers, too fine to hold.

My whole life, I had thought that my story was, again and again: Once upon a time, there was a boy, and he had to risk everything to keep what he loved. But really, the story was: Once upon a time, there was a boy, and his fear ate him alive.

It felt wrong to be so proud of something that I had absolutely nothing to do with, but I couldn't help myself.

Mom, you're the one who said to never stop in case I get raped or picked up by a democrat.

But love isn't quantifiable on paper.

here we were again , always saying good-bye