She was, in other words, the kind of girl who made the rest of us look bad, and whenever she glanced my way, I couldn't help but feel guilty, even though I hadn't done anything wrong.

Poetry, she thought, wasn't written to be analyzed; it was meant to inspire without reason, to touch without understanding.

It would be like describing colors to someone blind from birth: The words might be understood, but the concept would remain mysterious and private.

People hide the truth because they're afraid.

That's the thing about life. A lot of the time, it isn't easy at all. We just have to try to make the best of it.

Then you came along and helped me believe in myself again.

You are Hannah, a lover of life, a strength to those who shared in your friendships. You are a dream, a creator of happiness, an artist who has touched a thousand souls. You've led a full life and wanted for nothing, because your needs are spiritual and you have only to look inside you. You are kind and loyal, and you are able to see the beauty where others do not. You are a teacher of wonderful lessons, a dreamer of better things.