I’m not a follower. I never have been. But I’ll definitely become someone I’m not for a few hours if it’ll make me blend in rather than make me a blatant eye sore and draw attention.

You’re the world to me,” I whisper onto her lips. “I hope you never forget that.” “I’ll never forget,” she whispers back.. “But if I ever do, for whatever reason, I hope you’ll always find a way to remind me.” ...“Always.

I could die in this bed with him right now, wrapped in his arms and I would never know that I had died.

It’s like, you know, it doesn’t matter what you do, even if you try to replicate an experience down to every last detail, it’ll never be the way it was when it happened naturally the first time.

Everybody starts out as strangers.

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.

What compels any of us to do the things we do when deep down a part of us just wants to break free from it all?