Depression is pain in its purest form.

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.

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?

Live in the moment, where everything is just right, take your time and limit your bad memories and you'll get wherever it is you're going a lot faster and with less bumps in the way.

One more thing: don’t feel bad for not telling me that you loved me. You didn’t need to say it. I knew all along that you did.

Oh, this is going to be fun; he actually thinks he's teaching me something.

Our story is over, yes, but our journey isn't, because we'll always live on the edge until the day we die.