Sometimes it feels as though you could stomp your feet and make earthquakes erupt from fault lines coming from your insides. Sometimes it feels like mountains in your lungs are crumbling into oceans, making sea foam turn into hurricanes.  Sometimes you think if you were to open your mouth those hurricanes would escape your lips in a supernova. Sometimes you’re sure if you were to prick your finger, your blood would run India Ink instead of plasma red. And then suddenly, all at once, you realize someday you will, most certainly, burst into a thousand, shining letters because you are made of thundercane stories.

Also:

…because currently I’ve been replaying it fifty times on my mp3 player. I’m slightly tweaked like that.

I’m gonna go put my goggles back on and pretend I can fly.