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When he plays all the flowers swap colors and years and decades and centuries of rain pour back into the sky

Jandy Nelson

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Jandy Nelson
Age: 58
Born: 1965
Born: November 25
Writer
New York City
New York
Color
Centuries
Century
Colors
Back
Plays
Play
Flowers
Years
Decades
Sky
Rain
Swap
Flower
Pour

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Sometimes you think you know things, know things very deeply, only to realize you don't know a damn thing.
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Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
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grief is a house that disappears each time someone knocks at the door or rings the bell a house that blows into the air at the slightest gust that buries itself deep in the ground while everyone is sleeping
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I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes when the grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe.
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No hot guys should be allowed to have an English accent and drive a motorcycle. Not to mention wear the leather jacket or sport the cool shades. Hot guys should be forced into footie pajamas.
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I heard this expression once: Each time someone dies, a library burns. I'm watching it burn right to the ground.
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The. World. Is. Not. A. Safe. Place.
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Grief is forever. It doesn't go away it becomes part of you, step for step, breath for breath.
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... if you're someone who knows the worst thing can happen at any time, aren't you also someone who knows the best thing can happen at any time too?
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Years ago, I was crashed in gram’s garden and Big asked me what I was doing. I told him I was looking up at the sky. He said, “That’s a misconception, Lennie, the sky is everywhere, it begins at your feet.
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The guy's life drunk, I think, makes Candide look like a sourpuss. Does he even know that death exists?
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It's such a colossal effort not to be haunted by what's lost, but to be enchanted by what was.
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And then he smiles, and in all the places around the globe where it's night, day breaks.
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We were all heading for each other on a collision course, no matter what. Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
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... every available inch of his face busts into a smile - whoa. Has he blown into our school on a gust of wind from another world? The guy looks unabashedly jack-o'-lantern happy, which couldn't be more foreign to the sullen demeanor most of us strove to perfect.
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I can't shove the dark out of my way.
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Take a (second or third or fourth) chance. Remake the world.
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The Color Of Extraordinary.
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That's exactly it—I am crazy sad, and somewhere deep inside, all I want is to fly.
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Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.
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