There are no accusations with writing, no judgment, no shame, only freedom.

One of the stall doors swings open and a fortyish-year-old woman walks out tucking her shirt into her jeans. Her heavy lined eyes land on Seth. "This is the women's restroom." She points a finger to the door. "Can't you read?" "Can't you see that everyone in this club is about twenty years younger than you?" Seth retorts, turning to the mirror. With his pinkie, he messes with bangs. "Now if you'll excuse us, we're going to have some fun.

I don't believe that. I don't believe that there are bad things about you. Only things that you think are bad.

Liar's such a strong word. I prefer to think of it as me omitting some of the details" - Alex

Don't be sorry, Callie,' he says with a heavy-hearted sigh. 'You have your own sad story.

You're going to get yourself into a lot of trouble." "Why?" "Because of her right there. Do you know what Daisy would do if you ever cheated on her." "Move on to the next guy that told her she has nice tits." "Okay, you're probably right on that one.

Death. It's around more than people realize. Because no one wants to talk about it or hear about it. It's too sad. Too painful. Too hard. The list of reasons is endless.