It's only a sure defeat when you stop trying.

There’s a hollow where he used to be, and it echoes with self-imposed loss.

Once exposed, a secret loses all its power.

Sometimes broken things heal crooked. The pieces didn’t fit anymore.

For peace to take hold, one person must first stop fighting.

After people have gone, you forget their faults, and you recall the ideal more than the person.

I think my head's a minefield strewn with triggers, and maybe if I survive each explosion, what emerges from the wreckage will be me, really, truly me.