I feel like someone is pressing me into a mold that does not fit my body, forcing me intothe wrong shape.

I read somewhere, one, that crying defies scientific explanation. Tears are only meant to lubricate the eyes. There is no real reason for tear glands to overproduce tears at the behest of emotion. I think we cry to release the animal parts of us without losing our humanity. Because inside of me is a beast that snarls, and growls, and strains toward freedom, toward Tobias, and, above all, towards life. And as hard as I try, I cannot kill it.

I pout my lower lip for a second, but then I grin as the pieces come together in my mind. "THAT'S why you like me!" I exclaim. "Because you're not very nice either! It makes so much more sense now.

People talk about the pain of grief, but I don't know what they mean. To me, grief is a devastating numbness, every sensation dulled.

Now she looks pale and small, but her eyes make me think of wide- open skies that I have never actually seen, only dreamed of.

Those who seek peace above all else, they say, will always deceive to keep the water calm.

I decide to do what I always do when I'm not sure what's going on: I act like everyone else.