Isn't it funny how the memories you cherish before a breakup can become your worst enemies afterwards? The thoughts you loved to think about, the memories you wanted to hold up to the light and view from every angle-it suddenly seems a lot safer to lock them in a box, far from the light of day and throw away the key. It's not an act of bitterness. It's an act if self-preservation. It's not always a bad idea to stay behind the window and look out at life instead, is it?

Because I feel no anger toward my mother. Only loss, and loss is a feeling you can’t fight your way out of as easily.

Red is the first color of spring. It's the real color of rebirth. Of beginning.

Once you want something, everything changes. Now I want everything. More and more and more.

Does loving someone mean you want them to be safe? Or that you want them to be able to choose?

This is a difficult balance, telling the truth: how much to share, how much to keep, which truths will wound but not ruin, which will cut too deep to heal.

Once you want something, everything changes.