“For some reason, the act of writing them down makes me remember. Each word I write brings me closer to finding the right one.”

“My words never last long. I have to destroy them before anyone sees them. But. I remember them all. For some reason, the act of writing them down makes me remember. Each word I write brings me closer to finding the right ones. And when I see Ky again, which I know will happen, I will whisper the words I have written in his ear, against his lips. and they will change from ash and nothing into flesh and blood.”

“Each word I write brings me closer to finding the right ones.”

“And it strikes me that this is how writing anything is, really. A collaboration between you who give the words and they who take them and find meaning in them, or put music behind them, or turn them aside because they were not what was needed.”

“Here," I say. "You can put music behind it, and it will be your own." And it strikes me that this is how writing anything is, really. A collaboration between you who give the words and they who take them and find meaning in them, or put music behind them, or turn them aside because they were not what was needed.”

“I could write paper people and I would love them too; I could make them almost real.”

“They could not write their names, but I can write mine, and I will again, somewhere where it will last for a long, long time. I will find Ky, and then I will find that place.”