Underneath the Sycamore Tree

by B. Celeste

Chronic illness gives little wiggle room for peace of mind. Having “good” days doesn’t mean the pain isn’t there; it just means that it’s not as noticeable—like a limb that’s sort of falling asleep but still functioning.

“I find that the books with the saddest endings are the best because they make us feel. We don’t always get a happily ever after no matter how hard we work for it.”

I limit the amount of dairy and gluten I eat, but cheese pizza is my weakness just like any other person, and carbs are my one true soul mate.

Pain comes in countless forms. The worst is seeing what your suffering does to everyone around you.

Reality is ugly and painful and full of the kind of heartache that some books help you forget exist for a short period.

There are lots of quotes about time. Time is fleeting. Time is valuable. Time shouldn’t be wasted. The trouble with time is that we only think we have it. It’s an illusion—an excuse to linger in existence. Some people use it to be reckless; others use it to hold themselves back.

Disease is the monster in the dark. It lingers, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It rears its ugly head and takes what it wants, when it wants.

Selfish people don’t put anybody first. Selfish people don’t sacrifice everything. They never come second. They never feel torment.

“Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It just means that it can no longer control our lives.

Any of us could pretend like we’re invincible and put up a front in the public eye, but behind our masks are tearstained faces.

Fiction has a way of revealing the types of truths that reality obscures. There’s nothing that books can’t talk about, regardless of how readers interpret them. We can accept or deny what we want, but the facts are still immortalized on paper.

Tearing up and letting them spill are two different things. It’s like an acceptance that things have changed. When you tear up, you’re simply unsure. When you cry, you know.