I would like my life to be a movie so I could cut to a montage.

Music? Music is life! It’s physical emotion - you can touch it! It’s neon ecto-energy sucked out of spirits and switched into sound waves for your ears to swallow. Are you telling me, what, that it’s boring? You don’t have time for it?

What wonderful thing didn't start out scary?

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

She is everything. And if she is everything, maybe that's answer enough.

I wince at her use of the word "human." I've never liked that differentiation. She is living and I'm dead, but we're both human. Call me an idealist.

Are my words ever actually audible, or do they just echo in my head while people stare at me, waiting?