"I hate you." My sister said it different than she said it to my dad. She meant it with me.She really did. "I love you," was all I could say in return. "You're a freak, you know that? Everyone says so. They always have." "I'm trying not to be.” Then, I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.

I don't even remember the season. I just remember walking between them and feeling for the first time that I belonged somewhere.

He was the boy that made mix tapes with themes and hand-colored covers until the day he hit my sister and stopped crying.

And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have. Good and bad.

More like the movie where the guy meets a smart girl who wears a lot of sweaters and drinks cocoa. They talk about books and issues and kiss in the rain.

I was suddenly very aware of the fact it was me standing up in that tunnel with the wind over my face. Not caring if I saw downtown. Not even thinking about it. Because I was standing in the tunnel. And I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite.

On Friday night, I was reading my new book, but my brain got tired, so I decided to watch some television instead.