Trust Me When I Tell You, Eaton

I Feel The Urge, Familiar Now, To Wrench Myself From My Body And Speak Directly Into Her Mind. It Is The Same Urge, I Realize, That Makes Me Want To Kiss Her Every Time I See Her, Because Even A Sliver Of Distance Between Us Is Infuriating. Our Fingers, Loosely Woven A Moment Ago, Now Clutch Together, Her Palm Tacky With Moisture, Mine Rough In Places Where I Have Grabbed Too Many Handles On Too Many Moving Trains. Now She Looks Pale And Small, But Her Eyes Make Me Think Of Wide-open Skies That I Have Never Actually Seen, Only Dreamed Of.

What Did You Do, Memorize A Map Of The City For Fun?” Says Christina. “yes,” Says Will, Looking Puzzled. “didn’t You?

I Used To Go Outside Every Day And Invent These Elaborate Worlds And Scenarios In My Head, And When I Grew Too Old For Playing Pretend, I Started To Write Everything Down Instead.

The Cruelty Of Fate Is That I Must Travel With The People I Hate When The People I Love Are Dead Behind Me.

I Don't Want To Try To Live Up To Someone Who's Created Something So Incredible. I'm Just Trying To Focus On What I'm Doing And What I Do Best. It's Sometimes Hard To Focus In And Only Think About My Books Rather Than How They Measure Up To Someone Else's.