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I spent my life folded between the pages of books. In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.

All I ever wanted was to reach out and touch another human being not just with my hands but with my heart.

I'm oxygen and he's dying to breathe.

The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.

Raindrops are my only reminder that clouds have a heartbeat. That I have one, too.

I've been screaming for years and no one has ever heard me.

Hope is hugging me, holding me in its arms, wiping away my tears and telling me that today and tomorrow and two days from now I will be just fine and I'm so delirious I actually dare to believe it.

I only know now that the scientists are wrong. The world is flat. I know because I was tossed right off the edge and I've been trying to hold on for 17 years. I've been trying to climb back up for 17 years but it's nearly impossible to beat gravity when no one is willing to give you a hand.

I am nothing but novocaine. I am numb, a world of nothing, all feeling and emotion gone forever. I am a whisper that never was.

Someone picked up the sun and pinned it to the sky again, but every day it hangs a little lower than the day before. It's like a negligent parent who only knows one half of who you are. It never sees how its absence changes people. How different we are in the dark.

Killing time isn't as difficult as it sounds. I can shoot a hundred numbers through the chest and watch them bleed decimal points in the palm of my hand. I can rip the numbers off a clock and watch the hour hand tick tick tick its final tock just before I fall asleep. I can suffocate seconds just by holding my breath. I've been murdering minutes for hours and no one seems to mind.

Girls are always talking about electricity in their romance, but none are too happy to actually be electrocuted, apparently. Bloody confusing, is what it is.

You can't touch me," I whisper. I'm lying, is what I don't tell him. He can touch me, is what I'll never tell him. Please touch me, is what I want to tell him.

I have a curse. I HAVE A GIFT. I'm a monster. I'M MORE THAN HUMAN. My touch Is lethal. MY TOUCH IS POWER. I am their weapon. I WILL FIGHT BACK.

My life is four walls of missed opportunities poured in concrete molds.

Find me a cure for these tears, I'd really like to exhale for the first time in my life.

Every butterfly in the world has migrated to my stomach.

Adam stares at me so long I begin to blush. He tips my chin up so I meet his eyes. Blue blue blue boring into me. His voice is deep, steady. "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh." He's so excruciatingly correct I don't know how to respond except with the truth. My smile is tucked into a straight line. "Laughter comes from living." I shrug, try to sound indifferent. "I've never really been alive before.

I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.

His lips soften into a smile that cracks apart my spine. He repeats my name like the word amuses him. Entertains him. Delights him. In seventeen years no one has said my name like that.

He whispers, "You have no idea how much I've thought about you. How many times I've dreamt"-he takes a tight breath- "how many times I've dreamt about being this close to you." He moves to run a hand through his hair before he changes his mind. Looks down. Looks up. "God, Juliette, I'd follow you anywhere. You're the only good thing left in this world.

Hope in this world bleeds out of the barrel of a gun.

Truth is a jealous, vicious mistress that never, ever sleeps.

Dude, you ran off with the crazy chick! You ran off with the psycho girl!" he's calling after Adam. "I thought they made that shit up. What the hell were you thinking? What are you going to do with the psycho chick? No wonder Warner wants you dead - OW, MAN, what the hell - " "She's not crazy. And she's not deaf, asshole.

His eyes are two buckets of rainwater: deep, fresh, clear. Hurt.

Sometimes I think the loneliness inside of me is going to explode through my skin and sometimes I’m not sure if crying or screaming or laughing through the hysteria will solve anything at all. Sometimes I’m so desperate to touch, to be touched, to feel, that I’m almost certain I’m going to fall off a cliff in an alternate universe where no one will ever be able to find me.

You're absolutely delicious when you're angry." "Too bad my taste is poisonous for your palate.

My words wear no parachutes as they fall out of my mouth.

But I'm shocked by the tenderness in his voice. The sincerity with which he wants to know. He's like a feral dog, crazed and wild, thirsty for chaos, simultaneously aching for recognition and acceptance. Love.

You think that because I am unwanted, because I am neglected and-and discarded-" My voice inches higher with every word, the unrestrained emotions suddenly screaming through my lungs. "You think I don't have a heart? You think I don't feel? You think that because I can inflict pain, that I should? You're just like everyone else. You think I'm a monster just like everyone else. You don't understand me at all.

I'm too poor to afford the luxury of hysteria right now.

He smiles a small smile. His lips twitch like he's trying not to laugh. His eyes soften as they study my own. "There's very little I wouldn't do for you.

My face is in his hands and my lips are at his lips and he's kissing me and I'm oxygen and he's dying to breathe.

I'm just messing with you guys. I like seeing psycho chick get all intense." He glances at me, lowers his voice. "I mean that as a compliment--because, you know"--he waves a haphazard hand in my direction--"psycho kind of works for you.

I'd really rather die than eat your food and listen to you call me love.

One word, two lips, three four five fingers form a fist. One corner, two parents, three four five reasons to hide. One child, two eyes, three four seventeen years of fear. A broken broomstick, a pair of wile faces, angry whispers, locks on my door.

Sometimes I wish I never had to sleep. Sometimes I think that if I stay very, very still, if I never move at all, things will change. I think if I freeze myself I can freeze the pain. Sometimes I won’t move for hours. I will not move an inch. If time stands still nothing can go wrong.

I'm wearing dead cotton on my limbs and a blush of roses on my face.

Juliette," he whispers,and I realize just how close he is. I'm not sure why I haven't evaporated into nothingness. "It's been me and you against the world forever," he says. "It's always been that way. It's my fault I took so long to do something about it." "No," I'm shaking my head. "It's not your fault-" "It is. I fell in love with you a long time ago. I just never had the guts to act on it." "Because I could've killed you." He laughts a quiet laugh."Because I didn't think I deserved you.

Moving forward is the only way to survive.

Hate looks just like everybody else until it smiles. Until it spins around and lies with lips and teeth carved into the semblance of something too passive to punch.

Son of a motherless goat!.

I spent my life folded between the pages of books. In the absence of human relationships, I formed bonds with paper characters.

Life is a bleak place. Sometimes you have to learn how to shoot first.

Because when I said I wanted to touch the moon you took my hand, held me close, and taught me how to fly.

My body is a carnivorous flower, a poisonous houseplant, a loaded gun with a million triggers and he's more than ready to fire.

My eyes are two professional pickpockets, stealing everything away in my mind. I lose track of the minutes we trample over.

There will be a bird today. It will be white with streaks of gold like a crown atop its head. It will fly.

The sun is an arrogant thing, always leaving the world behind when it tires of us. The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It's always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Everyday it's a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.

Laughter comes from living.

I peek up at his features, at the crooked grin i want to savor, at the color in his eyes i'd use to paint a million pictures.

He's a hot bath, a short breath, five days of summer pressed into five fingers writing stories on my body.

I tried so hard to fix what I'd ruined. I tried every single day to be what they wanted. I tried all the time to be better but I never really knew how. I only know now that the scientist are wrong. The world is flat. I know because I was tossed right off the edge and I've been trying to hold on for 17 years. I've been trying to climb back up for 17 years but its nearly impossible to beat gravity when no one is willing to give you a hand. When no one wants to risk touching you.

Everything is on fire. My cheeks my hands the pit of my stomach and I'm drowing in waves of emotion and a storm of fresh rain and all I feel is the strenght of his silhouette against mine and I never ever ever ever want to forget this moment. I want to stamp him into my skin and save him forever.

I never thought it would get this bad. I never thought the Reestablishment would take things so far. They're incinerating culture, the beauty of diversity. The new citizens of our world will be reduced to nothing but numbers, easily interchangeable, easily removable, easily destroyed for disobedience. We have lost our humanity.

I wish I could stuff my mouth full of raindrops and fill my pockets full of snow. I wish I could trace the veins in a fallen leaf and the feel the wind pinch my nose.

You're naked?" Kenji is suddenly studying my sheet and not bothering to be subtle about it. I flush despite my best efforts, flustered, frustrated. "Blondie said they destroyed my clothes." "Blondie?" Blond man is offended.

The human imagination is often disastrous when left to its own devices.

I hate the lackadaisical ennui of a sun too preoccupied with itself to notice the infinite hours we spend in its presence.

He looks at me with so much emotion I nearly crack in half. "God, Juliette--" And he's kissing me. Once, twice, until I've had a taste and realize I'll never have enough.

I hope he doesn't know he just touched my leg. And nothing happened.

He’s wrong he’s so wrong he’s more wrong than an upside-down rainbow. But everything he said is right.

Look at me, is what I wanted to say to you. Talk to me every once in a while. Find me a cure for these tears, I'd really like to exhale for the first time in my life.

We're here, and it's nighttime. So according to my calculations, we must not have done anything stupid.

I've searched the world for all the right words and my mouth is full of nothing.

The sky is raining bricks right into my skull.

You don't have to look away," he says. He says it with a small smile the size of Jupiter.

They say our world used to be green. Our clouds used to be white. Our sun was always the right kind of light.

... my face is buried in the soft material of his shirt and my cheek is pressed against his chest and he smells like strength and courage and the world drowning in rain.

I've loved you forever," I tell him. The sun rises, rests, shines in his face and he almost smiles, almost can't meet my eyes.

They locked me up with a boy. A boy . Dear god. They're trying to kill me. They've done it one purpose. To torture me, to torment me, to keep me from sleeping through the night ever again.

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.

I spent my life folded between the pages of books.