Kids are mostly very resilient.
I reach for funny books all the time to help me get through life.
Each reader has to find her or his own message within a book.
Gossip is the foul smell from the Devil’s backside.
I breathe in slowly. Food is life. I exhale, take another breath. Food is life.
She looks like a china doll, observed Grandfather as we departed. I will break just as easily, I muttered.
He says a million things without saying a word. I have never heard a more eloquent silence.
Too much sun after a Syracuse winter does strange things to your head, makes you feel strong, even if you aren’t.
Cold and silence. Nothing quieter than snow. The sky screams to deliver it, a hundred banshees flying on the edge of the blizzard. But once the snow covers the ground, it hushes as still as my heart.
What do I want? The answer to that question does not exist.
Look at the stupid, poor people. Look at the stupid, poor, burned-out people. Look at the stupid, poor, burned-out people, look at their dead baby. It’s death porn for the masses.
A breath of steam trickles out, filled with the sobs of a grown woman breaking into girl-sized pieces.
She offered herself to the big, bad wolf and didn’t scream when he took the first bite.
I am learning how to be angry and sad and lonely and joyful and excited and afraid and happy.
Who wants to recover? It took me years to get that tiny. I wasn’t sick; I was strong.
We swore sacred oaths to be strong and to save the planet and to be friends forever.
No, I am never setting foot in this house again it scares me and makes me sad and I wish you could be a mom whose eyes worked but I don’t think you can.
Eating was hard. Breathing was hard. Living was hardest.
You’re not dead, but you’re not alive, either. You’re a wintergirl, Lia-Lia, caught in between the worlds. You’re a ghost with a beat- ing heart. Soon you’ll cross the border and be with me. I’m so stoked. I miss you wicked.
Death is funny, when you think about it. Everybody does it, but nobody knows how, exactly how.