But Edward doesn't even flinch; it's as if he's reading the text of me with some magic internal Rosetta stone that makes him understand what I say is not what I mean at all.

“Was there a language of loss? Did everyone who suffered speak a different diale…”

“You figured that the only way I'd be happy is if I did the things you thought w…”

“Every second, another streak of silver glows: parentheses, exclamation points, …”

“Who I am, and what I am capable of doing has always managed to surprise me.”