But you can't get away from yourself. You can't decide not to see yourself anymore. You can't decide to turn off the noise in your head.

This time, for the first time, I saw the possibilities in giving up. I even found hope in it.

He looks out into the empty street, allowing me to sit in his car and just miss her. To miss her each time I pull in a breath of air. To miss her with a heart that feels so cold by itself, but warm when thoughts of her flow through me.

When you hold people up for ridicule, you have to take responsibility when other people act on it.

I needed a break... from myself.

That’s what i love about poetry. The more abstract, the better. The stuff were your not sure what the poets talking about. You may have an idea, but you cant be sure. Not a hundred percent. Each word, specifically chosen, could have a million different meanings. Is it a stand-in ―a symbol for another idea? Does it fit into a larger, more hidden, metaphor? ...I hated poetry until someone showed me how to appreciate it. He told me to see poetry as a puzzle. Its up to the reader to decipher the code, or the words, based on everything they know about life and emotions.

I miss video games where the jump-kick was the trickiest combo to master.