But it was too early to know: there were always more pages to go, more words to be written, before the story was over.

In my group of friends, I was always the one who remembered everything. The stories, the boys my friends and I dated, all the details. So I think a part of me was always filing them away, although at the time I wasn't sure why.

I just do the best I can under the circumstances.

I'm just writing what I know. I've never been much of a reader of fantasy, and I think you write what you, personally, enjoy reading.

I always tried to imagine what it would be like to open your door to find something you had given up on. Maybe it had seen places you never had, been rerouted and passed through so many strange hands, but still somehow found its way back to you, all before the day even began.

I wondered if emotions were like menstrual cycles, if you get enough women together. Give it time, and everyone was crying.

Something had changed in me, even if I didn't know what it was just yet. All I could think was that I felt alive for the first time.