A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this.

She kept watching the words.

Summer came. For the books thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews.

She was saying goodbye and she didn't even know it.

Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver.

I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her. Nothing, however, exits my mouth. How well do we really let ourselves know each other? There's a long quietness until I finally break it open. It reminds me of someone breaking bread and handing it out. In my case, I hand out a question to my friend.