The rules of Panic are simple. Anyone can enter. But only one person will win.
Finishing books - and leaving the world you've created - is always a kind of emotionally wrenching experience. I usually cry.
Stupid how the mind will try to distract itself.
It is war now, and armies need symbols.
I love you. They can't take it away.
Sometimes I feel like she deserves a best friend who is just a little more special.
You can't tell me what to feel
I'm so tired after dinner I fall asleep with my clothes on, almost as soon as my head hits the pillow, and so I forget to ask God, in my prayers, to keep me from waking up.
The worst is knowing I can't tell anybody what's happening -or what's happened- to me. Not even my mom.
If you take, we will take back. Steal from us, and we will rob you blind. When you squeeze, we will hit. This is the way the world is made now.
But now I give in, let the anger surge. I'm sick of people acting like this world, this other world is the normal one, while I'm the freak. It's not fair; like all the rules have suddenly changed and somebody forgot to tell me.
My boyfriend's an idiot," I say as soon as he lurches away."A cute idiot," Ally corrects me."That's like saying 'a cute mutant.' Doesn't exist.
No one can tell us no. No one can make us stop. We have picked each other and the rest of the world can go to hell.
Love is the only thing in the world worth having. You must never loose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.
You can build walls all the way to the sky and I will find a way to fly above them.
Still, the vivid green of the grass-where the grass is actually managing to assert itself through the dirt-seems out of place. This seems like a place where the sun should never shine: a place on the edge, at the limit, a place completely removed from time and happiness and life.
He's stuck with me and I'm stuck with him. We're stuck. That's what growing up is all about, I guess.
I'm overwhelmed with sadness for everything that was lost, and filled with anger toward the people who took it away. My people-or at least, my old people. I don't know who I am anymore, or where I belong. That's not totally true...I know I belong with Alex.
It's an incredible thing, how you can feel so taken care of by someone and yet feel, also, like you would die or do anything just for the chance to protect him back.
It's going to be okay. Words that mean nothing. really, just sounds intoned into vastness and darkness, little scrabbling attempts to latch on to something when we're falling.
For the first time in my life I've done something for me and by choice and not because somebody told me it was good or bad.
I didn't even know a heart could beat so loudly...it reminds me of an Edgar Allen Poe story we had to read in one of our...classes...it's supposed to be a story about guilt and the dangers of civil disobedience, but when I first read it I thought it seemed kind of lame and melodramatic. Now I get it, though. Poe must have snuck out a lot when he was young.
I think of the quietness of Julian's voice as he said I love you, the steadiness of his rib cage rising and falling against my back, as we sleep.I love you, Julian. But the words don't come.
Mistake, mistake, mistake. A strange word: stinging, somehow.
But for now, the future, like the past, means nothing. For now, there is only a homestead built of trash and scraps, at the edge of a broken city, just beyond a towering city dump; and our arrival-hungry, and half-frozen, to a place of food and water and walls that keep out the brutal winds. This, for us, is heaven.
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