I wish my life could be like that, knotted up so that even if something broke, the whole thing wouldn't come apart.

...You know the mistrust of heights is the mistrust of self, you don't know whether you're going to jump.

I wondered where he was now whether I would ever hear him again. Whether someone would love him, someday show him what beauty mean't.

So much wanting and longing, clutching, desiring, passion and hatred and terrible need. Here, death was suitable, there was room for it, the grip of life's relentless urges slackened, replaced by this icy simplicity. This wasnt her death. It was his. That was the sad and honest truth. Though it would stay with her, it would be more like a black onyx heart on a silver chain, worn privately, under her clothes, close to her body, all her life. The guilt, the beauty, everything. It wasnt over, it had only begun. Well ok then, Okay.

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

Isn't it funny.I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than i ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you, changes its mind. But hatred, now, that's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard, or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but Hatred cradles you.

It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.