The music is the void. And you're the reason why.

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.

The politeness was painful. I wanted to push through it, to return to the glow of the night of the concert, but I was unsure of how to get back there.

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

I recognized that the kiss was a door I had walked through.

A thousand suns rise from my chest.

I like French fries," I say. I like French fries? I sound like a slow child in a made-for-TV movie.