This is my problem. I want other people to tell me how they feel. But I'm not so sure I want to return the favor.

What is it with you and that book?"
Rafael laughed. "We have a personal relationship.

I had learned to hide what I felt. No, that's not true. There was no learning involved. I had been born knowing how to hide what I felt.

Senior year. And then life. Maybe that's the way it worked. High school was just a prologue to the real novel. Everybody got to write you -- but when you graduated, you got to write yourself. At graduation you got to collect your teacher's pens and your parents' pens and you got your own pen. And you could do all the writing. Yeah. Wouldn't that be sweet?

Sometimes, all you have to do is tell people the truth. They won't believe you. After that, they'll leave you alone.

Why do we smile? Why do we laugh? Why do we feel alone? Why are we sad and confused? Why do we read poetry? Why do we cry when we see a painting? Why is there a riot in the heart when we love? Why do we feel shame? What is that thing in the pit of your stomach called desire?