There are all kinds of friends you make in life... But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you.

Tell me who I am. (29)

I still cry on waking. I'm not sure why. I feel nothing. Nothing I can name, anyway. It's like breathing - something that happens over which I have no control. (6)

Escape is not about moving from one place to another. It's about becoming more.

I decide that sometimes definitions are wrong. Even if they're written in a dictionary. Identities aren't always separate and distinct. Sometimes they ARE wrapped up with others. Sometimes, for a few minutes, maybe they can even be shared. And if I am ever fortunate enough to return to Mr. Bender's garden, I wonder if the birds will see that piece of him that is wrapped up in me.

Father says it will come in time. “Time heals,” he says. I don’t tell him that I don’t know what time is.

I used to be someone.