I hate this feeling. Like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.

Don't you know? We're connected by an invisible chain. It's very long, very light. But also very strong. It can't rust. Can't break. And the only thing that can sever it is if you ever stop loving me.

Coyotes hunt in packs, and so do assholes.

You'll only find happy endings in books. Some books.

And now life has become the future. Every moment of your life is lived for the future-you go to high school so you can go to college so you can get a good job so you can get nice house.

Cleansed, chlorinated to the point of chemical peel, sore muscles relieved, I felt almost human again. Tiptoe to my room, up a darkened hall, past closed doors, I wondered if I'd ever feel completely human again.

When all choice is taken from you, life becomes a game of survival.