I want to kiss him for the rest of the night, for the rest of our lives. The one.

He glances down and notices that I'm still wearing a certain blue something, and, this time, it's HIS index finger that wraps underneath MY rubber band.
I shiver wonderfully. "I'm never taking it off."
Cricket brushes the delicate skin of my wrist. "It'll fall off."
"I'll ask you for another one."
"I'll give you another one." He smiles and touches his nose to mine.

Thank you for helping my sister,” he says.
I lean forward, mimicking his position. “I’m happy to.”
Calliope leans out her window. “STOP FLIRTING AND GET BACK TO WORK.

That’s the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don’t want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It’s mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.

There's something about blue eyes.

The kind of blue that startles you every time they're lifted in your direction. The kind of blue that makes you ache for them to look at you again. Not the blue green or blue gray, the blue that's just blue.

Cricket has those eyes.

SPACES... BREAKS...TO CONTEMPLATE THINGS... TO FIGURE OUT WHAT'S IMPORTANT...