The ones I loved fly as birds in the open sky above me. Soaring, weaving, calling to me to join them. I want so badly to follow them, but the seawater saturates my wings, making it impossible to lift them. The ones I hated have taken to the water, horrible scaled things that tear my salty flesh with needle teeth. Biting again and again. Dragging me beneath the surface.

Because when he sings...even the birds stop to listen.

Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your life to save mine, but I don't even know what your favorite color is?

One of the most memorable things I hear is when someone tells me that my books got a reluctant reader to read.

I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now and live in it forever.

Just last year i wanted to kill him, but now it is my duty to save him.

Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around.