Through the damp fabric of my coverall, bundled in my blanket, I feel naked. Raw. He sees more than I want, more than I can bear. It’s like standing before him ... while he stares at my scars, pitiless and unmoved.

Beautiful. And ugly. The world is always both.

Men always want to be remembered whereas women realize that requires being dead.

Sometimes when you meet someone, there’s a click. I don’t believe in love at first sight but I believe in that click. Recognition.

My heart shifted a little in my chest; it seemed to swell and beat against my bones until I couldn't hear.

Through the damp fabric of my coverall, bundled in my blanket, I feel naked. Raw. He sees more than I want, more than I can bear. It’s like standing before him ... while he stares at my scars, pitiless and unmoved.

He's never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.