Pretend – inside your skin – you've got a friend, who's willing to give you everything you ever wanted in exchange for all you've ever been.

Forte is French… for blanket fort.

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.

The future gets no say in who we are.

But I still show up for gentleman practice in the company of lead dancers, hoping their grace will get stuck in my shoes.

I'm ready to kill something. I'll probably only get as far as my brain cells, but I am going to kill them.

If I didn't have so much of this life all wrong I would have gotten it right by now.