And yet here I am. Broken and bleeding on the inside, heartsick, I am here.

Things end. People leave. And you know what? Life goes on. Besides, if bad things didn't happen, how would you be able to feel the good ones?

...sometimes, you have to break your own heart.

There's no good way to die, you know? No way I've seen, anyway. It all ends with tubes and bedpans and IVs and I just-- smoking gets me out of there. Gets me outside, gets me away from all the--" "Sick people?" I say, and she shakes her head. "Away from my life.

It could be enough, maybe, or at least a start, but the problem is that at night I tumble into dreams that aren't dreams at all. I tumble into memories and wake up aching for a dying world and a quiet, cold life that offered me nothing but sitting in a still room.

I thought living dead girls couldn't feel pain, thought I was emptied out but I'm not, I'm not.

But the past couple of days I’ve missed you so much it’s felt like missing you is all I am.