Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind

Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.

Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.

Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either; I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.

They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.

Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.

Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.