No one can tell us no. No one can make us stop. We have picked each other, and the rest of the world can go to hell.

They haven't killed us yet," I say, and I imagine that one day I will fly a plane over Portland, over Rochester, over every fenced-in city in the whole country, and I will bomb and bomb and bomb, and watch all their buildings smoldering to dust, and all those people melting and bleeding into flame, and I will see how they like it.

If you take, we will take back. Steal from us, and we will rob you blind. When you squeeze, we will hit.

This is the way the world is made now.

Alex loved books. He was the one who first introduced me to poetry. That's another reason I can't read anymore.

Waste today, want tomorrow...

The idea—the fact of it, the fact that he even noticed and thought about me for more than one second—is huge and overwhelming, makes my legs go tingly and my hands feel numb.

I'd rather die on my own terms than live on theirs. I'd rather die loving Alex than live without him.