And our lips. There isn't enough skin, enough spit, enough time, for the lost years that our lips are trying to make up for as they find each other. We kiss. The electric current switches to high. The lights throughout all of Brooklyn must be surging.

Concert' doesn’t mean standing up like a target in front of thousands of strangers. It means coming together. It means harmony.

I've become to realize there's a world of difference between knowing something happened, even knowing why it happened, and believing it.

Barrel of the gun, rounds one two three She says I have to pick: choose you, or choose me Metal to the temple, the explosion is deafening Lick the blood that covers me She’s the last one standing “Roulette” Collateral Damage, Track 11

The line between true self and feigned self is blurred on all sides. Which I think is a rather handy metaphor for falling in love.

By that point, it’ll have been more than year since I met Lulu. Any sane person would say it’s too late. It already felt too late that first day, when I woke up in the hospital. But even so, I’ve kept looking. I’m still looking.

I don't know who I am. Or maybe I do know who I am and I just don't want to be her anymore.