What Is Wrong With You?' I Shake

I Try To Catch My Breath And Calm Myself Down, But It Isn't Easy. I Was Dead. I Was Dead, And Then I Wasn't, And Why? Because Of Peter? Peter? I Stare At Him. He Still Looks So Innocent, Despite All That He Has Done To Prove That He Is Not. His Hair Lies Smooth Against His Head, Shiny And Dark, Like We Didn't Just Run For A Mile At Full Speed. His Round Eyes Scan The Stairwell And Then Rest On My Face. "what?" He Says. "why Are You Looking At Me Like That?" " How Did You Do It?" I Say.

One Piece Of Advice I Have Is: Want Something Else More Than Success. Success Is A Lovely Thing, But Your Desire To Say Something, Your Worth, And Your Identity Shouldn’t Rely On It, Because It’s Not Guaranteed And It’s Not Permanent And It’s Not Sufficient. So Work Hard, Fall In Love With The Writing — The Characters, The Story, The Words, The Themes — And Make Sure That You Are Who You Are Regardless Of Your Life Circumstances. That Way, When The Good Things Come, They Don’t Warp You, And When The Bad Things Hit You, You Don’t Fall Apart.

This Concept Could Easily Have Gone Awry. Stories About Love Tend To Go That Way Sometimes. They Wander Into The Realm Of Cheese And Never Return, Which I Think Is A Shame, Because There Is A Way To Write About Romantic Love Without Breaking Out The Velveeta.

Which Means That In Order To Defeat Her, I Have To Think Of A Way To Defeat Myself. And How Can I Be A Better Fighter Than Myself, If She Knows The Same Strategies I Know, And Is Exactly As Resourceful And Clever As I Am?

What Irritates Me Most About Him Is His Natural Goodness, His Inborn Selflessness.