Love is a helium-based emotion; Love always takes the high road.

but I am not here ironically; I am here sincerely.

I felt a bottomless sadness. So completely alone. Like one of my stuffed animals at home that I was too old for now, that sat on the shelf in my closet, mashed against the back wall.

I don't think writers - in general - ever achieve the fame of movie stars. For the simple reason that only a fraction of the population reads. But I guess there are exceptions.

It was like living in a new house. I saw the undersides of tables, walked through the tangle of chair legs. It would be good to be a dog, I thought. You would feel safe surrounded by all of these leggy objects that never tried to run away.

I really look at my childhood as being one giant rusty tuna can that I continue to recycle in many different shapes.

I hate feelings. Why does sobriety have to come with feelings?