How can you be a survivor, when you can't even remember the war?

I know what it's like when the things you believe make you feel like you're on the outside looking in.

Sometimes I think there's a beast that lives inside me, in the cavern that's where my heart should be, and every now and then it fills every last inch of my skin, so that I can't help but do something inappropriate. Its breath is full of lies; it smells of spite.

I imagine having that sixth sense, the certainty that what I'm looking for is within reach, even if it's still hidden.

I watch her do the simplest things: brushing her hair into a ponytail, feeding the dog, tying Sophie's shoelaces, and I want to tell her what she means to me, but I never actually say the words. After all, to acknowledge Delia as a drug, I'd have to face the fact that one day I might have to go without her and this I can't do.

Traveling is all very well and good as long as you knew there is a place or person you can call home

When your existence is hell, death must be heaven.