I'm not afraid to die. What I'm afraid of is having reality get the better of me, of having reality leave me behind.

In my younger days, I was trying to write sophisticated prose and fantastic stories.

It's good when food tastes good, it's kind of like proof you're alive.

These days I just can't seem to say what I mean [...]. I just can't. Every time I try to say something, it misses the point. Either that or I end up saying the opposite of what I mean. The more I try to get it right the more mixed up it gets. Sometimes I can't even remember what I was trying to say in the first place. It's like my body's split in two and one of me is chasing the other me around a big pillar. We're running circles around it. The other me has the right words, but I can never catch her.

I dream. Sometimes I think that’s the only right thing to do. To dream, to live in the world of dreams. But it doesn’t last forever. Wakefulness always comes to take me back.

My arm was not what she needed, but the arm of someone else. My warmth was not what she needed, but the warmth of someone else.

The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.