How honest is it that we drink until we are dehydrated?

Hearts don't break, y'all. They bruise and get better.

The first time my town saw the sky it sucker-punched us in the throat, left us breathless, said, I'm gonna keep you awake some nights without touching you. You'll make it up, the pain, you always do.

You can call me an angry ghost when I'm gone, or laugh into my disposition. But my mom will still see me as her wide-eyed wanderer out behind the garage inventing ways to fend off dog attacks that will probably never happen.

Jordan tattoos the words "forgive me" in thick black letters down the inside of his arm so that when he looks at his wrist he will remember not to hate himself so much. What he keeps forgetting is that there is life after survival.

We can stick anything into the fog and make it look like a ghost.

There is a point when tears don't work to wash things away anymore. Grabbing for breath has now broken my fingers.