The paradox of volcanoes was that they were symbols of destruction but also life. Once the lava slows and cools, it solidifies and then breaks down over time to become soil - rich, fertile soil. She wasn’t a black hole, she decided. She was a volcano. And like a volcano she couldn’t run away from herself. She’d have to stay there and tend to that wasteland. She could plant a forest inside herself.

Once again, I’m not much of a reviewer. Let’s just say it’s the book’s fault, for rendering me incapable of expressing my thoughts. Also, the quote above made me cry. And I underlined many more beautiful passages (not literally, I’m not a savage