But I am learning that perfection isn't what matters. In fact, it's the very thing that can destroy you if you let it.

I do not expect to get what I want, so I don't. And I don't even try.

Nothing is ever perfect. It is what you make of it.

Throw in the intensity of emotions that come with that bittersweet summer sandwiched between high school graduation and the rest of your life.

Hush little baby, Dont you cry, Dont cut your arms, Dont say goodbye. Put down that razor, Put down that light, It maybe hard but, You'll win this fight.

There are two kinds of sorry. There is the sorry imbued with regret. And a pure sorry. The kind that is merely asking for forgiveness, nothing more.

I've always been intrigued by the power of secrets. When is it justifiable to keep them from the ones we love? And does keeping them irrevocably change who we are?