The Museum of Heartbreak

I will remember the feel of his hand around mine for the rest of my life.

I stared at Eph, envying the fact that he already had a costume, though whether it was actually qualified as a costume was debatable. He was dressed in all black- black jeans, black knit hat, black boots, long-sleeved, black T-shirt, black thermal on top of it. "I'm the dark night of the soul. Or a black hole. Or something like that," He'd said when I'd asked him earlier. "You're copping out," I said. "How is being in more than one costume copping out? I'm actually so investing in this, I am in an infinite number of costumes. It's meta and crap.

Why would I hate you?" "Because I was being, as Oscar made a point of telling me later, the most unlikable version of myself

As I glanced around my room, sliding my dinosaur back and forth on its chain, I though that maybe that was the point--that instead of happy endings, you get beginnings. Hundreds of little beginnings happening every moment, each of them layering into histories deep and tangled and new, histories you count on to remain, no matter what changes the world throws at you.

His smile was deep and dark, like a thousand books begging to be read, like the doorway to Narnia.

It was lonely being mad at people.

All that heartbreak? It got us here.

Sometimes the biggest heartbreak of all is letting go of the time before you knew things could ever be broken.

Everything around me smelled musty, like when you open an old book and it smells like words.