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240 pages, Hardcover
First published July 19, 2016
“That old, familiar ache fills my body. I know it's grief. I've lived with it for over two years, and I know it so well. It's like a roommate who never leaves the house, like the brother I never had... And sometimes, you almost forget he’s there. Almost.”
“My deepest, darkest fear is that maybe we don't ever get over some things. maybe we just carry them around, permanently, these heavy, dull aches in the heart. And maybe they don't heal; maybe we just learn to work around the pain.”
“If I’d never been hurt, if I’d never been through anything, I might have only seen the bright stars like Sarah and those other super popular girls. And they’d blot out the really beautiful people. The people who sometimes get overshadowed—the intricate flares and filaments.” He looks at me, directly at me, with those eyes. “I wouldn’t wish what has happened to us on anyone. But if it hadn’t happened, I would never have seen you—a beautiful, complicated loop of light.”
“And I kiss him. Like really kiss him. I’ve never kissed a boy before, not like this. And I feel it. From the top of my head, past my glued-together heart, all the way down to my unpainted toenails. I’m two places at once—forever in this moment, on this porch, grounded by this kiss, this warmth, this now-ness, and simultaneously soaring in the storming sky. Swooping like dizzy birds, unafraid of rushing dark clouds. And then I soar twenty feet higher, let the ground get smaller and smaller—because he’s kissing back.”
“Portae ad caelum: doorways to heaven. We’re all doorways. To the other side. That’s what the dead are trying to do. To cross through us.”
“Missing my life is no way to remember you,” I whisper. “Living is.”
My deepest, darkest fear is that maybe we don’t even get over some things. Maybe we just carry them around, permanently, these heavy dull aches in the heart. And maybe they don’t heal; maybe we just learn to work around the pain.