There are few things harder than being born into the wrong body.

...and suddenly you started singing out your love for me. My name and everything, loud enough to reach the top floors of all the buildings. I should have told you to stop, but I didn’t want you to stop. I didn’t mind if your love for me woke people up. I didn’t mind if it somehow sneaked into their sleep.

Life goes on. Get over it. You're still young. It'll get better. Blah, Blah, Blah

She stays in the same spot, anchored by the profound, desperate loneliness of a bad relationship.

The word I think of is precarious. I am struck by how precarious it all is. How the things that hold us are only as strong as the faith we have in them.

If smart people are parodying it, that's a sure sign that some less smart people are believing it.

When the shock wears off, you always hope there's understanding underneath.