Gather my leaves,
Twist them into crowns
Let me be the king of your forest
Climb on my branches,
I will seek out your hide
s you sleep beneath the shade
Of my giving tree

Have you made any other friends since we've been here?"
I gave him the death stare. "Yes, actually."
"Who? I want a name."
"Jamie Roth."
"The Ebola kid? I heard he's a little unstable."
"That was one incident.

This is a love story. Twisted and messy. Flawed and screwed up. But it's ours. It's us. I don't know how our story will end. but I know it will start. I pick up my pen and begin to write:

My name is not Mara Dyer, but my lawyer told me I had to choose something.

I know what I can do to a girl with a word, a look, a touch. And I want to do them all to her.

Maybe sometimes we can only see the truth about ourselves if someone shows us where to look.

I twisted my arm to curl him behind me and he unfolded there, the two of us snuggled like quotation marks in his room full of words.