I didn’t know what love was back then, but I felt it.

What more can I tell you to make you understand that we live together in the house of melatonin? This is our postcard. This is our psychedelic watermark.

It was another blowout fight, the third one this week. You always take things too personally. You’re too sensitive. Why don’t you lighten up?

Part of the show was playing tricks to feel like I was living. See, audiences don’t want to see some random little girl dying in front of their eyes.

A shiver ran down his spine. Yes, he thought, submerged by a sudden sadness. It wasn’t about his illness or about the things he wouldn’t be able to do.

In a time of stories, long ago, a shining stone sprung from the earth and raced across the specked canvas of the night sky to join his forebears.

I am insufferable. I find myself at this intrepid stage of girlhood: sixteen and longing—a martyr of her own accord. A lewd, naïve, obsessive thing, and utterly unstoppable.