Sometimes I miss the old me.
There’s a hollow where he used to be, and it echoes with self-imposed loss.
What was the good of having such a fine home if you weren't willing to fight for it?
He'd said the sun could burn me. It certainly looked angry enough, all orange and glowing mad.
I don’t like anyone knowing anything about me that I didn’t choose to tell them.
I couldn't help what I'd done before I learned it was wrong. I could only do better in the future.