non-reality was black, and it didn't hurt so much.

Fire and ice, somehow existing together without destroying each other. More proof that I belonged with him.

I knew the human exaggeration for sorrow-a broken heart.

The part that kills me is that you already know. I already told you everything!

What do I look like? The Wizard of Oz? You need a brain? You need a heart? Go ahead, take mine. Take everything I have.

How old are you?” she asked. My answer was automatic and ingrained. “Seventeen.” “And how long have you been seventeen?” I tried not to smile at the patronizing tone. “A while,” I admitted. “Okay,” she said, abruptly enthusiastic. She smiled up at me.

Over my pile of ashes