The damage was permanent; there would always be scars. But even the angriest scars faded over time until it was difficult to see them written on the skin at all, and the only thing that remained was the memory of how painful it had been.

You want to write something as good as what you've read.

Life was what happened when all the what-ifs didn't.

Maybe knowing where you belong is not equal to knowing who you are.

I had the heart of the relationship, and no body to grow it in... It broke.

A fire can't burn forever. Eventually, it consumes itself.

It's like the psychiatrists themselves are buying into that stupid belief that therapy is something to hide.