Airports should all belong to the same country. The country of Crappacia. Or Bleakovania. Or Suckitan.

There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could've been and never was.

The guitar's still around me. I slip it off and put it down. I want to feel him. To feel his breath on my neck. The warmth of his skin. To feel something other than sadness. Hold me, I tell him silently. Hold me here. To this place. This life. Make me want you. Want this. Want something. Please

For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.

It's another sin. Worse than all the other ones, which are immediate, violent and hot...It's the eighth deadly sin. The one God left out, Hope.

He's wearing boots, a kilt, and a long-sleeve tee. No coat, even though it's December. Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm.

Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm.