It’s sad to see them staring wistfully through the window when the door isn’t locked.

...wanting change is step one, but step two is taking it.

What wonderful thing didn't start out scary?

I notice faint scars on her wrists and forearms, thin lines too symmetrical to be accidents.

If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.

I adapt to things quickly, including good things, which I wish I could shut off sometimes.

How do I appear unthreatening when her lover's blood is running down my chin?