Wish you could turn off the questions, turn off the voices, turn off all sound. Yearn to close out the ugliness, close out the filthiness, close out all light. Long to cast away yesterday, cast away memory, cast away all jeapordy. Pray you could somehow stop uncertainty, somehow stop the loathing, somehow stop the pain. Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest.

Love is more than blind. It’s brain-dead.

I nod, because I do understand. I'm just not sure how to go about divorcing myself from the evil I've already accepted.

He did seem like a nice boy. Seeming and being are two different things.

TRIAD: Three separate highways intersect at a place no reasonable person would ever want to go. Three lives that would have been cut short, if not for hasty interventions by loved ones. Or Fate. Three people, with nothing at all in common except age, proximity, and a wish to die. Three tapestries, tattered at the edges and come unwoven to reveal a single mutual thread.

The more I think about it, the more I believe there has to be a subtle yet satisfying method of revenge.

Can a dream be wrong? Aren't dreams God's way of telling you things?