That,” She Says, “was Never Here Before.

How Do You Know That You Are Not Part Of A Book? That Someone's Not Reading Your Story Right Now?

If Words Had Flavors, Hers Would Be Bitter Almonds And Coffee Grounds.

There Are Legions Of Us, I Realized. The Mothers Who Have Broken Babies, And Spend The Rest Of Our Lives Wondering If We Should Have Spared Them. And The Mothers Who Have Let Their Broken Babies Go, Who Look At Our Children And See Instead The Faces Of The Ones They Never Met.

I’d Much Rather Pretend I’m Somewhere Else, And Any Time I Open The Pages Of A Book, That Happens.

Sometimes To Get What You Want The Most, You Have To Do What You Want The Least.