It was the beginning of the greatest Christmas ever. Little food. No presents. But there was a snowman in their basement.

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

She even touches Jimmy's face on the photos, and I see what it is to love someone like Milla loved that man. Her fingertips are made of love.

If you can't imagine it, think clumsy silence. Think bits and pieces of floating despair. And drowning in a train.

I'm just another stupid human.

I only know that all of those people would have sensed me that night, excluding the youngest of the children. I was the suggestion. I was the advice, my imagined feet walking into the kitchen and down the corridor.

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