“You do care,” said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single movement to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. “You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”
Words team around my brain. Bouncing off walls like racket balls at the peak of exuding force. I want to write, for words to flow like the mighty rivers that have gone unblocked my human force. For pen to hit page or keystrokes to go rhythmically at the pace of my fingertips. But the words form not into ideas; they simply flow inelegantly among themselves in my head, content with their place.
“At some point you have to make a choice. Boundaries don’t keep other people out, they fence you in. Life is messy: that’s how we’re made. So you can waste your life drawing lines, or you can live your life crossing them. But there are some lines that are way too dangerous to cross. Here’s what I know. If you’re willing to take the chance the view from the other side is spectacular”—Grey’s Anatomy