“It was impossible to tell how she felt. When she tried to look inside of herself, all she saw were tangled things shifting in and out of focus.”

“These things, she felt, were not to be passed around like disingenuous party favors. She kept an honor code with her journals and her poems. 'Inside, inside,' she would whisper quietly to herself when she felt the urge to tell...”

“She tried to make the pain go away by telling herself it was for the best, that it was all part of God's plan, that she would one day see the wisdom behind it. But despite the her efforts to appease her restless souls, she felt a cold chill take over her, inside and out.”

“Anyway, how can you say things like that? You don't know me at all." She wasn't really caught up in this game, but she was enjoying it, as she had enjoyed the dozens of declarations that had been made to her since she was eleven. Her earliest memories were of being told how beautiful she was. Something in her never believed the words, never felt satisfied. It wasn't modesty; it was a craving for more proof than anyone had ever yet given her. Her mind worked constantly at trying to understand for herself exactly what other people saw when they looked at her. She could never grasp it whole and living. Her deepest fantasy was to step outside of her skin and look at herself and find out just what people were thinking about. She spent her life experimenting with people to see how she could make them react, as if, in their response, she could discover herself.”

“Were we all like that? Were we all trying to change how we looked on the outside to match how we felt on the inside? Were we all trying to change how people saw us?”

“I note how calm she looks and how focused she is. She is well-practiced in the art of losing herself. I can't say the same of myself.”