No one ever loved you like him. And no one ever took it away so completely. But it's here. Look around.

Cyndi Lauper was hilarious and generous, someone I'd loved from childhood who didn't disappoint.

At least you know where you are with blood. At least other people can see it.

Everyone asks about how I'll feel about the tattoos and scars in thirty years. I always say: "I'll like them." I've always loved damaged monuments, in architecture and in humans.

Time heals all wounds. And if it doesn't, you name them something other than wounds and agree to let them stay.

He was a super shiny boy and I liked the shape of him. Under the blanket. In the shower. I liked his shadow on the street and his imprint on the sofa. I hated the smell of hair gel on his head, but I loved it on the pillow. I love the smell of losing someone.

I wish I had been less keen to inject my own opinions, but I was a teenager and your teenage self is generally an idiot compared to the adult you. That's the way it should be. If it's the other way around, you have a problem.