I am insubstantial. A tangled, vaporous creature that lives in my brain, almost wholly imaginary. I can be here with him as easily as I can inhabit a sonnet or an organic molecule, or crawl inside a math problem.

The last time I was this close to him, it was a commotion of touching. His hands, picking apart the rigid panels of my exoskeleton. His mouth, finding mine with the certainty of a meteor.

Don’t show anyone the true, honest heart of yourself or else, when something goes wrong, you might wind up rotting in a tree.

Intent matters. If you believe you’re charmed, capable, likable, popular, then you are.

I’m scared to disturb the balance, though- that delicate equilibrium. Marshall and I can only exist in the narrow spaces where I’m not me and he is not him.

It’s not luck, Waverly. I mean yeah, to find someone who really gets you, maybe that’s luck, but if you treat people like they matter, they remember it.

I start, because if I don’t, then everything just stays the same.

Her gaze was direct, full of a sadness so raw and crystallized that I could see the shape of it. It ringed her pupils in rusty starbursts, but she was grinning – this terrible, ferocious grin. It made her look like she wanted to tear someone’s throat out.

Don’t take this the wrong way, but all my life you’ve been the weirdest person I’ve ever met. That doesn’t make you not a real person. In fact, it makes you pretty goddamn specific.

All the things are want are hard to find the words for.