I Wish I Could Say I Felt

I Feel The Urge, Familiar Now, To Wrench Myself From My Body And Speak Directly Into Her Mind. It Is The Same Urge, I Realize, That Makes Me Want To Kiss Her Every Time I See Her, Because Even A Sliver Of Distance Between Us Is Infuriating. Our Fingers, Loosely Woven A Moment Ago, Now Clutch Together, Her Palm Tacky With Moisture, Mine Rough In Places Where I Have Grabbed Too Many Handles On Too Many Moving Trains. Now She Looks Pale And Small, But Her Eyes Make Me Think Of Wide-open Skies That I Have Never Actually Seen, Only Dreamed Of.

Don't Confuse Your Grief With Guilt.

I Have To Admit That Christina Is Good—though I Don’t Like Giving Credit To Candor Smart-mouths—and So Is Peter—though I Don’t Like Giving Credit To Future Psychopaths.

I’d Ask You To Hang Out With Us, But You’re Not Supposed To See Me This Way.’… ‘what Way?’ I Ask. ‘drunk?’ ‘yeah…well, No.’ His Voice Softens. ‘real, I Guess.’ ‘i’ll Pretend I Didn’t.’ ‘nice Of You.’ He Puts His Lips Next To My Ear And Says, ‘you Look Good, Tris.’… I Laugh. ‘do Me A Favor And Stay Away From The Chasm, Okay?’ ‘of Course.’ He Winks At Me.

Let The Guilt Teach You How To Behave Next Time.