We're All Immortal Until We Die.

Here's What I Think I'm Having Trouble With: This Is What Happiness Is. When I Was A Kid, I Thought I'd Just Get Happier And Happier As I Got Older, And Have More Things To Be Happy About. I Based This Theory On Observation Of Select Adults. The Problem With My Results Is That I Couldn't Tell The Difference Then Between Happy And Fake-happy. Now I Know You Pretend To Be Just Frigging Ecstatic Over Everything, Maybe Because You're So Glad It's Not Worse.

It Was Like Him, Too, To Love Her And Admit To It Before He Knew If She Loved Him. Maybe Only Mortals Expected To Barter Their Hearts.

Is Negative Space The Space You Don't Like, Or The Space That Is Not There? And If It's Not There How Can You Tell?

Sometimes, She Reflected, She Dressed For Courage, Sometimes For Success, And Sometimes For The Consolation Of Knowing That Whatever Else Went Wrong, At Least She Liked Her Clothes.

She Lifted Her Head. "it's Easier," She Said, Slowly, "to Be Angry On Someone Else's Behalf Than On My Own. And Yet I Find I Have A Well Of Anger In Me, That I Have Been Filling For Years From My Own Hurts. If I Spill It Out In Defense Of Another, I Can Deny It's Mine.