Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.

How easy I was. Like a limpet I attached myself to anything, anyone who showed me the least attention.

Being in the library is so addictive for me that I really have to exercise self-control so I can get some writing done at home.

He reminded me of someone who put your fingers in the door and smiled and talked to you while he smashed them.

Take my advice. Stay away from all broken people.

What was beauty unless you intended to use it, like a hammer, or a key? It was just something for other people to use and admire, or envy, despise. To nail their dreams onto like a picture hanger on a blank wall. And so many girls saying, use me, dream me.

Poppies bleed petals of sheer excess. You and I, this sweet battle ground.