I tried writing fiction as a little kid, but had a teacher humiliate me, so didn't write again until I was a senior in college.

I watched her for a long time, memorizing her shoulders, her long-legged gait. This was how girls left. They packed up their suitcases and walked away in high heels. They pretended they weren't crying, that it wasn't the worst day of their lives. That they didn't want their mothers to come running after them, begging their forgiveness, that they wouldn't have gone down on their knees and thanked god if they could stay.

Loneliness is the human condition. Cultivate it. The way it tunnels into you allows your soul room to grow.

You can't shape me anymore. I am the uncontrolled element, the random act. I am forward movement in time. You think you can see me? Then tell me, who am I? You don't know.

Panic was the worst thing. When you panicked, you couldn't see possibilities. Then came despair.

A cliche is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.

Beauty was deceptive. I would rather wear my pain, my ugliness. I was torn and stitched. I was a strip mine, and they would just have to look. I hoped I made them sick. I hoped they saw me in their dreams.