Hope. It's like a drop of honey, a field of tulips blooming in the springtime. It's a fresh rain, a whispered promise, a cloudless sky, the perfect punctuation mark at the end of a sentence. And it's the only thing in the world keeping me afloat.

I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.

I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend. The one who will memorize the things you say as well as the shape of your lips when you say them. I want to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of your body. I want to know where to touch you, I want to know how to touch you. I want to know convince you to design a smile just for me. Yes, I do want to be your friend. I want to be your best friend in the entire world.

I love walking into a bookstore. It's like all my friends are sitting on shelves, waving their pages at me.

Sometimes a book isn't a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. Sometimes it's the only story you know how to tell.

Only an idiot would rely on the energy of a bean or a leaf to stay awake throughout the day.

I'm wondering how many more mistakes I'll have to make before things finally fall into place. If they ever will.