Do you guys not get it? You can’t hurt us anymore. You can’t do anything to us. You can’t take anything from us. You’re nothing now.

They went to the column, where they stole a few more quiet minutes together, listening to the river wear its way deeper into the earth, the way people wear grooves into each other’s hearts.

We are a fallen species, spitting on the gift of salvation. Humanity is irredeemable.

We live in a series of moments and seasons and sense memories, strung end to end to form a sort of story.

You’re telling someone in a wheelchair ‘Walking is awesome. You should get up and walk.’ It’s not that easy.

Love deserves monuments, and this is the only kind I know how to build.

I watch the tip of my tie sway to and fro and wonder how humans got to a place where we said, “Whoa. Hold on. Before I can take you seriously, you need to hang a brightly colored strip of narrow pointy cloth around your neck.

Here’s where stories come in. They tell us the truth of other people’s lives. They shine a light on shared humanity. They make us understand that we are different, but not ‘different’. That our differences are something that makes the human tapestry richer and more colorful, and not a threat.

Now I’m standing here, writing the final chapter of my son’s portion of the history of my life. I never imagined that my history would include the full history of my son, start to finish. But it does now.

I’m tired of watching children perish. I’m tired of watching the world grind up gentle people. I’m tired of outliving those I shouldn’t be outliving. I’ve made books my life because they let me escape this world of cruelty and savagery.