Dying isn’t like living; it requires no effort at all.

Possessiveness isn’t love. I’m not even sure it qualifies as an emotion.

The whole world is like Whitewall's razors I burst out. It cuts us, and we bleed but there's no purpose to it.

I know you have bad news,” I say softly. “I’m ready for it.” But that’s not true. One is never ready. You just lie and say you are and hope you can take the hit on the chin without going down.

But the world moves on, even when you don't want it to, even when change feels like the end of everything. It never stops.

While sight may deceive you, touch rarely does.

Life…never gave me a chance to be soft.