Funny thing, your brain, how it always functions on one level or another. How, even stuck in some sort of subconcious limbo, it works your lungs, your muscle twitches, your heart, in fact, in symphony with your heart, allowing it to feel love. Pain. Jealousy. Guilt. I wonder if it’s the same for people, lost in comas. Is there really such a thing

I write poetry anyway and have for years and years. For me, putting fiction and poetry together is like the best of both worlds.

It wasn't my first kiss, maybe it wasn't my best kiss, but it was pretty fine, and the fact that he had asked will forever make that kiss stand out in my mind, touch my heart, make me remember a kiss so tender it made me cry.

back turned, you don't have to look at what you've left behind. And the first person who turned their back on you can't watch you break down and cry.

Some people never find love at all, count yourself blessed if it ever happens your way

I want the part of you that you refuse to give.

It's just so hard to feel good, you know?" I do know. And more than that, it's just so incredibly hard to feel. (54)