If You Want To Write

Okay, So, Flying,” I Started, Taking A Deep Breath And Focusing On The Thing I Loved Most In The World. “flying Is … Great. It Feels Great When You’re Doing It. It’s Fun. Pure Freedom. There’s Nothing Better.” Dylan Smiled, A Slow, Easy Smile That Seemed To Light Up His Whole Face. “so The First Thing We’re Going To Do,” I Told Him, “is Push You Off The Roof.

She Didn't Flirt With Him, But They Hung Out Together A Lot, And Every Time I Saw Their Heads Bent Over A Computer Screen Or Map, It Made My Stomach Clench. And My Teeth. And My Fists.

My Name Is Daniel, And This Is The First Volume Of My Life Story, Which, Hopefully, Will Be A Very Long And Distinguished One. Who Should You Read It? Very Good Question. Maybe Because This Is Your Planet, And You Have A Right To Know What's Actually Happening On It.

Angel?" I Said. "baby Penguins Eat A Regurgitated Mixture Of Partially Digested Fish, Krill, And An Oily Substance Form Their Fathers' Stomachs. Are You Willing To Eat A Bunch Of Raw Fish And Krill, And Then Barf It Back Up Into A Baby Penguin's Cute, Cheeping Mouth? Like, Every Hour?" Sometimes My Crushing Logic Astounds Even Me.

The Weird, Weird Thing About Devastating Loss Is That Life Actually Goes On. When You're Faced With A Tragedy, A Loss So Huge That You Have No Idea How You Can Live Through It, Somehow, The World Keeps Turning, The Seconds Keep Ticking.