Nothing in my life has ever made me want to commit suicide more than people's reaction to my trying to commit suicide.
I still own my heart, which I know because it hurts so much.
He cried when I left, which I find to be standard male behavior.
History written in pencil is easily erased, but crayon is forever.
Simply put, if you are a Wayward Victorian Girl, I'll find you.
I was reading everything under the sun from music history to feminist literature to Shakespeare, which is why I'm not a complete idiot at this time.