Only his hair is the same: that auburn crown, like leaves in autumn. Impossible. I close my eyes and reopen them: the boy from a dream, from a different lifetime. A boy brought back from the dead. Alex.
It amazes me how easy it is for things to change, how easy it is to start off down the same road you always take and wind up somewhere new. Just one false step, one pause, on detour...
The sky doesn’t set so much as break apart. The horizon is brick-coloured. The rest of the sky is streaked with shock-red tendrils.
She had no context. She was a word on a blank page. There was no way to read meaning into it. No wonder she felt so alone.
Maybe when you die time folds in on you, and you bounce around inside this little bubble forever. Like.
When I got home, my roof was gone. Overnight the weight of the snow became too much to carry. What tipped the scale? Think about it: there must have been a final snowflake that did it, a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a milligram that made all the difference.
El mundo entero es un fraude, una brillante, reluciente estafa.
There are many words in the English language that you never want to hear you father say. Enema. Orgasm. Disappointed.
School is only hard when you care about doing well. And when you’re the stupid one in the family, no one expects you to do well.
The little scuzzbucket should just marry his right hand and be done with it.
She knew that this day, this feeling, couldn’t last forever. Everything passed; that was partly why it was so beautiful.
Strains of music spring up, crystallizing in the night air like rain turning suddenly to snow, drifting to earth.
She knew that there were electrical currents in the body and was what she was reminded of now. of currents flowing between them, of thousands of lights.
That was crazy. You’re crazy.” Alex shakes his head. “The old Lena would have bolted.” You.
When you can’t count on anything else, you can count on the news to make you sick.
If secrets were stuffing, the woman would be done up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
The horizon is touched with red: the sun is rising, a rusty colour, the colour of old blood, and I’m so filled with fear it is an agony, a shredding feeling, worse than any nightmare I’ve ever had.
So much time you can waste it. But for some of us there’s only today. And the truth is, you never really know.
The way I figure it, life’s the sum total of all our small mistakes, little tragedies, bad choices.
Everything passed; that was partly why it was so beautiful. Things would get difficult. But that was okay too.