“I’ve never once thought about how I was going to die,” she said. “I can’t think about it. I don’t even know how I’m going to live.”

“I’m just me – half a family, no awareness whatsoever about style, or what’s in and what’s out. I’m not like the lizards. I don’t really even know how I’m supposed to be with a guy that I’m attracted to. I’ve never been a game player. I don’t know how to be coy… or sexy… or whatever. I have no finesse.”

“I never know what I’m going to want to curl up in bed with.” I shrug.“How about a man?” she retorts.”

“Barnabas’s voice helps me drift off to sleep. I think briefly about how I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. I care about my family and friends, but this is a different feeling. This must be how my father feels about my mother. This must be what it feels like to be in love. Somehow, I’m certain.I know I can’t leave him here to rot. I can’t leave him at all.”

“I never asked her how she was, because I didn't really think about how she was. I just thought about what she thought of me.”

“Here’s something I bet you don’t know: every time someone writes a story about a dragon a real dragon dies. Something about seeing and being seen something about mirrors that old tune about how a photograph can take your whole soul. At the end of this poem I’m going to go out like electricity in an ice storm. I’ve made peace with it.”