If she spoke, she would tell him the truth: she was not okay at all, but horribly empty, now that she knew what it was like to be filled.

It turns out that sharing the past with someone is different from reliving it when you’re alone. It feels less like a wound, more like a poultice.

But it was like wearing a size five sneakers when your foot is a seven- you can get by for a few steps, and then you set down and pull off the shoes because it just plain much

Lately, I have been having nightmares, where I'm cut into so many pieces that there isn't enough of me to be put back together.

The problem isn’t with rock lyrics, it’s with the fabric of this society itself.

A man should live his life a certain way not because of some divine authority, but because of a personal moral obligation to himself and others.

Maybe a mother wasn't what she seemed to be on the surface.