That is what Lincoln saw in them, this love in all his friends, who held a close place in his heart, and Oscar, the one dream of his soul. He found it in them, in all of them, with their dirty pasts and their still recovering minds, in their words and in their friendship, and in their souls that spoke to each other in the mist of the clouds or the surging of the trees that knew that, in eternity, they would always find beauty. And that was an incredible world to wake up to.

Millions of colors spring up from behind his eyelids, lighting up the dark world like a thousand urns pouring out of the sun.

He laughed suddenly, a rough, light sound that filled the small space effortlessly, and Kieran let himself say the words in his head, examining them at every angle, let his tongue curl around the syllables and taste them, around the eight vowels and fourteen consonants, without making a sound:If I am anything, it is light.They all tasted oddly familiar.

Love is not weakness, father: it is strength. Love is what taught my skin to feel and my eyes to see. Love is not a weapon: it is light.