I'm not sure this is a world I belong in anymore. I'm not sure that I want to wake up.

I might have been eleven years old and a little socially immature, but I recognized a gauntlet being thrown down when I saw it, and I had no choice but to take it up.

You stood over me and you made a promise to me, as sacred as any vow. And I can understand why you're angry, but you can't blame me. You can't hate me for taking your word.

First you inspect me Then you dissect me Then you reject me I wait for the day That you'll resurrect me "Animate

It's just accidental, just temporary. Until the next accident sends me somewhere new. That's how life works.

Suddenly, it's all too much. Bryn and the bump watch. Vanessa with my high school yearbook. The idea that nothing's sacred. Everything's fodder. That my life belongs to anyone but me.

But what if Shakespeare― and Hamlet― were asking the wrong question? What if the real question is not whether to be, but how to be?