Nothing Happens For Ages, And Then All

I Mean, To Me, Freaking Out Is Different. More Of A Running Away, Not Telling Anyone What's Wrong, Slowly Simmering Until You Burst Kind Of Thing.

So This Had Been All I Wanted, A Boy Who Understood How I Felt. Now, Though, I Sometimes Wished For More.

It's The Same Thing,' I Told Her. 'what Is?' 'being Afraid And Being Alive.' 'no,' She Said Slowly, And Now It Was As If She Was Speaking A Language She Knew At First I Wouldn't Understand, The Very Words, Not To Mention The Concept, Being Foreign To Me. 'macy, No. It's Not.

But She Wouldn't. I Knew That Already. My Mother And I Had An Understanding: We Worked Together To Be As Much In Control Of Our Shared World As Possible. I Was Suposed To Be Her Other Half, Carrying My Share Of The Weight. In The Last Few Weeks, I'd Tried To Shed It, And Doing So Sent Everything Off Kilter. So Of Course She Would Pull Me Tighter, Keeping Me In My Place, Because Doing So Meant She Would Always Be Sure, Somehow, Of Her Own.

It Doesn't Matter, Anyway, Why You Like Me. Just That You Do.