Closure. I loathe that word.

Bribes are the glue that's kept teenagers and parents connected for generations

If I stay. If I live. It’s up to me. All this business about medically induced comas is just doctor talk. It’s not up to the doctors. It’s not up to the absentee angels. It’s not even up to God who, if He exists, is nowhere around right now. It’s up to me.

I know what I did to you was so wrong, but at the time it also felt so necessary to my survival. I don't know if those two things can both be true, but that's how it was.

I want to undo this. To make it right. But I have no idea how. I don't seem to know how to open up to people without getting the door slammed in my face. So I do nothing.

Something given, something taken away. Does it always have to work like that?

Whoever said that the past isn't dead had it backward. It's the future that's already dead, already played out.