I could not control the world I was in, could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt, but I found joy in the things that made me happy.
I remembered that, and, remembering that, I remembered everything.
Different people remember things differently, and you’ll not get any two people to remember anything the same, whether they were there or not. You stand two of you lot next to each other, and you could be continents away for all it means anything.
I knew there was no going back, that there was no way that this could end in anything but pain, and I knew that I was willing to exchange my life for the world.
I stared at him. Adults only ever said that when it, whatever it happened to be, was going to hurt so much.
In my dreams I have used that language to heal the sick and to fly; once I dreamed I kept a perfect little bed-and-breakfast by the seaside, and to everyone who came to stay with me I would say, in that tongue, “Be whole,” and they would become whole, not be broken people, not any longer, because I had spoken the language of shaping.
I liked that. Books were safer than other people anyway.