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This is what I want: I want to grab my brother’s hand and run back through time, losing years like coats falling from our shoulders.

Jandy Nelson

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Jandy Nelson
Age: 58
Born: 1965
Born: November 25
Writer
New York City
New York
Hands
Coats
Back
Shoulders
Years
Falling
Time
Losing
Like
Brother
Hand
Fall
Running
Grab

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But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?
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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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It’s never occurred to me that the stars are still up there shining even in the daytime when we can’t see them.
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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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Remember how it was when we kissed? Armfuls and armfuls of light thrown right at us. A rope dropping down from the sky. How can the word love and the word life even fit in the mouth?
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This is our story to tell. You’d think for all the reading I do, I would have thought about this before, but I haven’t. I’ve never once thought about the interpretative, the story telling aspect of life, of my life. I always felt like I was in a story, yes, but not like I was the author of it, or like I had any say in its telling whatsoever.
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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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Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.
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The Color Of Extraordinary.
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But then I think about my sister and what a shell-less turtle she was and how she wanted me to be one too. C'mon, Lennie, she used to say to me at least ten times a day. C'mon Len. And that makes me feel better, like it's her life rather than her death that is now teaching me how to be, who to be.
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I wish my shadow would get up and walk beside me.
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Our tongues have fallen madly in love and gotten married and moved to Paris.
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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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... 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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When he plays all the flowers swap colors and years and decades and centuries of rain pour back into the sky
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