Margo was not a miracle. She was not an adventure. She was not a fine and precious thing. She was a girl.

“But you see, I am in a similar situation. I do not control the little devil sit…”

“to feel our roots are connected, even if I never see that leaf of grass again.”

“but there was nothing I could do to dim the supernovae exploding inside my brai…”

“Without Pain How Could We Know Joy?”