women are born twice.
I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
I am so imperfect, can you love me when really my soul is deformed? Will you love me anyhow?
Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
I'm hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life.
Death's in the good-bye.