I was tired of hanging on, taking the torn pieces to make something whole with them.

But as was so often the case, it was the one person missing who you thought about more than the ones who were right in front of you.

She said writting novels was like childbirth: if you truly remembered how awful it got, you'd never do it again.

I waited. Because with Eli, he was never trying to get you to finish for him. He always knew where he was going, even if it took a little while to get there.

All I'd wanted for so long was for someone to explain everything that had happened to me in this same way. To label it neatly on a page: this leads to this leads to this.

I've always written in first person. It gives the readers more insight.

I walked over, my eyes scanning Luna Blu, my house, and Dave's. But it was the building behind them, that empty hotel, that had the tiniest light, provided by one word, written in fluorescent paint. Maybe it wasn't what was once there, in real life. But in this one, it said it all: STAY.