I felt beautiful but also interrupted. I wasn't used to being so complicated.

this was the wonderful thing about strangers. they were big blank pieces of paper, you could draw watever you like on their impresionable surfaces

This was the life I was going to be living, everybody separated from everybody else, hanging on for a moment only to be washed away.

You must find a boy your own age. Someone mild and beautiful to be your lover. Someone who will tremble for your touch, offer you a marguerite by its long stem with his eyes lowered. Someone whose fingers are a poem.

If sinners where so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I?

My loneliness tasted like pennies.

here, here is my dark world. you carry it for a change. im out