Pieces
"Sometimes there only seem to be clouds.
Tonight, the clouds hang above me, sulking in the sky. They watch me write the words. I don't even think they bother to read them.
I imagine myself ina room, where some shattered pieces are strewn on the floor, in front of me.
As I walk toward them, I have no idea what they are, so I approach with trepidation. They seem to be a puzzle, all torn up and thrown apart. They look injured.
I crouch down and begin putting them together, finding each scrap that surrounds my feat.
Gradually, I see the picture as I put it all together.
Gradually, I see.
These pieces on the ground.
Are made of me."
[Markus Zusak - Getting the girl]
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