Scars crossed her welded wrists.

Regret, already sogging me down, burst its dam. It seeped into my legs, it pooled in my heart.

Where else would she feel more comfortable than in this subterranean realm where people wrote down what they couldn't say, where they gave voice to their most shameful longings and knowledge?

Just like ice, lives crack, too. Personalities. Identities.

College wasn't like the real world. In the real world people dropped names based on their renown. In college, people dropped names based on their obscurity.

On their best days, writers all over the world are winning Pulitzers, all alone in their studios, with no one watching.

There was nowhere I could go that wouldn't be you.