When You Reach Me
I still think about the letter you asked me to write. It nags at me, even though you're gone and there's no one to give it to me anymore. Sometimes I work on it in my head, trying to map out the story you asked me to tell, about everything that happened this past fall and winter. It's all still there, like a movie I can watch when I want to. Which is never. (1.5)
"Still reading the same book?" Belle asked, once I had settled into my folding chair next to the cash register to read. "It's looking pretty beat-up."
"I'm not still reading it," I told her. "I'm reading it again." I had probably read it a hundred times, which was why it looked so beat up. (3.4-5)
"—and then there's Shakespeare. He invented the name Miranda, you know, for The Tempest." (3.24)