If I stay. If I live. It's up to me.

Sometimes you can't know until you know.

he kissed me hard. "Promise me. Promise me you'll spend New Year's with me next year," he whispered into my ear.

I'm so tired of missing things I don't have.

Sleep would be so welcome. A warm blanket of black to erase everything else. Sleep without dreams. I've heard people talk about the sleep of the dead. Is that what death would feel like? The nicest, warmest, heaviest never-ending nap? If that's what it's like, I wouldn't mind. If that's what dying is like, I wouldn't mind that at all.

One day she told me that they'd decided that my gender was divvied into two neat piles-Men and Guys. Basically, all the saints of the world: Men. The jerks, the players, the wet T-shirt contest aficionados? They were Guys.

If I stay. If I live. It's up to me.