Sad, that lives can be shattered, into so many pieces that they can never be put back together, the the relentless force of love. Irreparable.

She's no longer afraid to die. What she's afraid of is living, accepting the status quo.

I was about six years old, still Daddy's little girl, even though Daddy couldn't care less about me. How could I expect any man every would?

Think long and hard before offering your heart to someone who can only accept it part-time

I do have friends, but they don't know me, only someone I've created to take my place. Someone sculpted from ice. I keep the melted me bottled up inside. Where no one can touch her, until, unbidden, she comes pouring out.

I'm in love. And I like how that feels. And I hate how that feels. Because love is an invention of fiction writers.

I can see why she feels left behind. Maybe even discarded. Is that why she refuses to accept my love and return it? Afraid that love doesn't last? Doesn't really exist? Afraid if her own father can withdraw his love (or at least the manifestation of his love), that maybe she somehow isn't worthy of the emotion?