I find as an artist if I'm not expressed relatively consistently, I get really depressed.

That I would be loved even when I numb myself. That I would be good even when I am overwhelmed. That I would be loved even when I was fuming. That I would be good even if I was clingy.

When pain brings you down, don't be silly, don't close your eyes and cry, you just might be in the best position to see the sun shine.

These precious illusions in my head did not let me down when I was defenseless, and parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends.

How about not equating death with stopping?

Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are.

My greatest environments in which I can grow, or grow up, is in personal romantic relationships with a man.