There's a conflicted look in Day's eyes, a joy and a grief, that makes him so vulnerable. I realize how little defense he has against my words. He loves so wholly. It is his nature.

He is beauty, inside and out. He is the silver lining in a world of darkness. He is my light.

I'm telling you that you got your facts wrong. I didn't kill your brother. But you killed my mother. You might as well have held the gun to her head!

Idiotic reply, June. Why don't you punch him in the face while you're at it. I turn even more flustered when I remember that I have actually pistol-whipped him in the face before. Romantic

Clouds suit my mood just fine.

I've always been interested in exploring the concept of child prodigies. When I was younger, I wrote a story about Mozart as a child and I just always loved this idea of young people who are able to take control of their lives and bring a whole lot of change at such a young age.

The memory fades, and I’m left hanging on to the ghosts of his words.