The Official Strategy Is Defensive Pessimism, Always.

I Should Probably Be Afraid. But Instead A Hysterical Laugh Bubbles Inside Me, Because I Just Remembered Something: Maybe I Can’t Hold A Gun. But I Have A Knife In My Back Pocket.

Before She Got Here Everything Had Stalled Inside Me, And Every Morning I Was Just Moving Toward Nighttime.

I Love You." He Frowns. "say It Again." "tobias," I Say. "i Love You.

It Reminds Me That No Embrace Will Ever Feel The Same Again, Because No One Will Ever Be Like Her Again, Because She's Gone. She's Gone, And Crying Feels So Useless, So Stupid, But It's All I Can Do.

I See A Few Hands Stretching Out To Me At The Edge Of The Net, So I Grabbed The First One I Could Reach And Pull Myself Across. I Roll Off, And Would Have Fallen Face-first Onto A Wood Floor If He Had Not Caught Me. "he" Is The Young Man Attached To The Hand I Grabbed. He Has A Spare Upper Lip And A Full Lower Lip. His Eyes Are So Deep-set That His Eyelashes Touch The Skin Under His Eyebrows, And They Are Dark Blue, A Dreaming, Sleeping, Waiting Color.