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I feel hollow inside, as if there’s a black hole where my heart was, as if I am caving in around myself.
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I had nothing to prove and everything to lose. But it didn’t take love to sacrifice something of yourself for someone else. It just took desperation.
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Who are the real monsters?
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I've never seen the stars before. And I never knew they were so beautiful.
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I can think of nothing but the stars. It is like a piece of my soul had been lost, empty, and it is now filled with the light of a million stars. They are all that I have ever dreamed of; they are nothing that I ever expected... I will never, never be the same. I have seen stars. Real stars.
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Dreams are like that: they go in and out of memories and scenes, but they're never real. They're never real, and I hate them because they aren't.
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I learned that life is so, so fragile. I learned that you can know someone for just days and never forget the impression he left on you. I learned that art can be beautiful and sad at the same time. I learned that if someone loves you, he'll wait for you to love him back. I learned that how much you want something doesn't determine whether you get it or not, that "no" might not be enough, that life isn't fair, that my parents can't save me, that maybe no one can.
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She stops speaking, but I can hear her silent sobs. They’re the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.
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Because if I break, they'll break too. It's a responsibility I'd never really felt before, or at least I never thought about enough to name. But, Bo's actions just cement my place in my family. He can walk away from the dinner table. I can't.
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As soon as the words slip past my lips, I wish I could grab them with my hands and crush them in my fists. But I can’t. The words are there.
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Our masterpieces are Shakespeare and Jane Austen and griots and Murasaki Shikibu, but they’re also J.K. Rowling and Chuck Palahnuik and Douglas Adams and Amy Tan and Suzanne Collins and Chinua Achebe. Read. Read them all. Read the books you love, and try to read books you don’t. Read the genres you love, but sometimes also read a book outside your comfort zone. Read voraciously.
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It's always in the rain...
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Emotion courses through my veins, choking me. I feel so insignificant, a tiny speck surrounded by a million stars. A million suns.
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She is trying to control me with fear, because she cannot control me any other way. My eyes open wide. They burn as if they are on fire—no, as if they are made of fire. Eyes are the window to the soul.
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I open my mouth. I want o say: I'm breaking, and i need someone to hold me together. But no sound comes out.
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If it's a matter of dying here or dying there, I think I'd like to at least see the world first.
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There is only him and me and this thing between us that I cannot name, not out loud, but that my heart knows is love.
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...that was before I'd started thinking about how life stuck on a ship wouldn't be so bad if Elder walked around pantless more.
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I'd rather have answers than weapons.
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But i don't care. Because we can say them or not; it doesn't matter. What is in our heats is real whether we name it or let it exist only in darkness and silence.
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Maybe one day the smears of paint Harley left throughout Godspeed will fade, and maybe the stars never will, but i'd rather have Harley's colors.
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I run and run and run. Past the hospital, through the garden, past a pond. And to the cold metal wall. I stop, gulping at the air, my heart racing in my ears. I reach up with one hand and touch the wall. My fingers curl into a fist, but it falls weakly to my side. And that's when I realize there is no where to run. 'But', my heart whispers, 'there is Elder.