I love the smell of Waffle House; it's the smell of freedom, being on the open road and knowing that ninety percent of the people eating around you are also on that road. Truck driver's, road-trippers, hangovers--those who don't live that monotonous life of society slavery.

Depression is pain in its purest form.

I don’t know what I’m doing, or where I’m going, but I do know that I want to do whatever it is and get there soon.

Why does everybody have to be with somebody? It’s a stupid delusion and a really pathetic way of thinking.

It’s not only about sadness. In truth, sadness really has little to do with it. Depression is pain in its purest form and I would do anything to be able to feel an emotion again. Any emotion at all. Pain hurts, but pain that’s so powerful that you can’t feel anything anymore, that’s when you start to feel like you’re going crazy.

Maybe you should get rid of me,” I whisper onto his lips. “Never,” he says, kissing me once softly. “You’re mine for as long as you breathe.

I tried to will them with my super mental powers so he’d put them around my waist, but apparently I had no super mental powers.