The girl in the mirror wasn't who I wanted to be and her life wasn't the one I wanted to have.

Sometimes she wore Levi's with white-suede fringe sewn down the legs and a feathered Indian headdress, sometimes old fifties' taffeta dresses covered with poetry written in glitter, or dresses made of kids' sheets printed with pink piglets or Disney characters.

You're meant to have whatever your heart desires. Whatever your heart wants that much is already a part of you.

I pounded through the houses, staggering down the hallways, falling down the steps. It was a hot streaky dawn full of insecticides, exhaust, flowers that could make you sick or fall in love. My battered Impala was still parked there on the side of the road and I wanted to lie down on the shredded seats and sleep and sleep. But I thought of the bones; I could hear them singing. They needed me to write their song.

Everything was fine, but Weetzie wanted a baby. “How could you want one?” My Secret Agent Lover Man said. “There are way too many babies. And diseases. And nuclear accidents. And crazy psychos. We cant have a baby,” he said.

But death is stronger than that and when you cover your eyes you are the one who can't see the dark. The dark still sees you.

I try to see the dark and light in everything. This is my way of comforting myself when I am dealing with those emotions.