I never remember nice dreams; only the bad ones stick.

My portal to another world was fiction.

If I'd kept my heart better armored, where would I be now?

Stars, too, were time travelers. How many of these ancient points of light were the last echoes of suns now dead? How many had been born but their light not yet come this far? If all the suns but ours collapsed tonight, how many lifetimes would it take us to realize that we were alone? I had always known the sky was full of mysteries - but not until now had I realized how full of them the earth was.

I was here for a reason. There was something I was meant not simply to be, but to do- and it wasn't to run or hide or give up the minute things seemed terrifying and impossible.

I had been writing since I was pretty small, and I've always been telling these stories about doors and finding other worlds within our own.

I had just come to accept that my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen.