If you hide your heart, he will never be able to take it from you.
Warner’s head is on my lap. His face is smooth and calm and peaceful in a way I’ve never seen it and I almost reach out to stroke his hair before I remember exactly how awkward this actually is.
There will be a bird today. It will be white with streaks of gold like a crown atop its head. It will fly.
He looks away. And he smiles. Its the kind of smile that makes me forget how to do everything but blink and blink and I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I don’t know why I cant convince my eyes to find something else to focus on. I don’t know why my heart is losing its mind.
Twice. Once for Adam. Once for Warner.
My father couldn’t warm my frozen hands.
I am no longer afraid of fear, and I will not let it rule me. Fear will learn to fear me.
He’s standing right in front of me and I miss him like I haven’t seen him in years.
Ah, Ms. Ferrars. I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by sitting in the corner.
Because when I said I wanted to touch the moon you took my hand, held me close, and taught me how to fly.
I hate the lackadaisical ennui of a sun too preoccupied with itself to notice the infinite hours we spend in its presence.
Laughter comes from living.
We’re here, and it’s nighttime. So according to my calculations, we must not have done anything stupid.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised it’s not bleeding.
I like when he tells me that he likes the way I feel because it goes against what I’ve heard my entire life and I wish I could put his words in my pocket just to touch them once in a while and remind myself that they exist.
Kenji is a walking paradox of Unflinchingly Serious Person and 12-Year-Old Boy Going Through Puberty all rolled into one.
Good God, I have taken leave of my senses. I never thank Delalieu. I’ve likely given the poor man a heart attack.
They say there were birds who used to soar through the skies like planes. It seems strange that a small animal could achieve anything as complex as human engineering, but the possibility is too enticing to ignore.
Every vertebra, every knuckle, both kneecaps, both hips. I am a pile of bones on the floor and no one knows it but me. I am a broken skeleton with a beating heart.
The soldiers stomp stomp stomp through the rain, crushing leaves and fallen snow under their feet. Their hands are wrapped in gloves wrapped around guns that could put a bullet through a million possibilities.