Like a heart, and I wish mine wasn't beating.

I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t think he’d ever really notice me, and in the end, he didn’t.

The story of my life can be told in silver: in chocolate mills, serving spoons, and services for twelve. The story of my life has nothing to do with me. The story of my life is things. Things that aren’t mine, that won’t ever be mine. It’s all I’ve ever known. I wish it wasn’t.

I’m always the one who doesn’t have a date, the one guys walk up to and say, “So, is your friend, you know, with someone?” and I may not be the only girl without someone, but it feels like it sometimes. A lot of the time.

I think...I think sometimes that's how it is. Sometimes people have to go before you get stuff. Before you can really get it.

My mother taught me to believe in silver, to believe in things, but I think it's more important to believe in me.

I knew I was having a panic attack. I hadn't had one in a while, though, and I'd forgotton how they made everything like it- and I- was going to fall apart. How they reminded me of how trapped I was.