love is tied to truth. I think of them as unhappily conjoined twins.

I was attempting to write the story of my life. It wasn't so much about plot. It was much more about character.

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

All this hoping for something- or someone- that's maybe hopeless. I'm having a hard time processing what I am supposed to believe, or if I'm even supposed to. There is too much information, and I don't like a lot of it.

He never wears a watch (his own rebellion against time, against watching).

Enlightenment is scary. Sometimes things look better in the dark.

And just like that, the universe goes wrong. Just like that, all the enormity seems to shrink into a ball and float away from my reach. I feel it, and she doesn't. Or I feel it, and she won't.