“Do you remember when you told me I couldn't see myself clearly? You obviously have the same blindness”

“What do you see in a guy like Christian Prescott?" he asked me that night when he dropped me off from prom. And what he was really saying then, what would have come through loud and clear if I hadn't been so blind was, why don't you see me?”

“I say it instead. "You told so," I admit. "You told me my image of Brody wasn't real, and you were right. I was just too blind to see it." He laughs a little. "You were to blind to see a lot of things Princess." It's reassuring when he calls me Princess-as opposed to princess or, worse, Lily. One seems too mocking, the other too intimate. His ironic nickname feels safe.”

“I told myself that I didn't need any of that shit, but there it was, repeated to me day after day after day. And when you're surrounded by a bunch of mostly strangers experiencing the same thing, unable to call home, tethered to routine on ranchland miles away from anybody who might have known you before, might have been able to recognize the real you if you told them you couldn't remember who she was, it's not really like being real at all. It's plastic living. It's living in a diorama. It's living the life of one of those prehistoric insects encased in amber: suspended, frozen, dead but not, you don't know for sure.”

“Why did we become blind, I don't know, perhaps one day we'll find out, Do you want me to tell you what I think, Yes, do, I don't think we did go blind, I think we are blind, Blind but seeing, Blind people who can see, but do not see.”

“when I see you, I feel the same. It is when I am away that I lose myself.”