I always had this secret suspicion that I was special.
And since she drove to work every morning, I could only use the car on weekends. Well, weekends and the middle of the goddamned night.
I just want to fly under the radar, because when you start to make yourself into a big deal, that's when you get shot down.
Colder by the hour, more dead with every breath.
When you stopped wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did.
It seems to me that all the things we keep in sealed boxes are both alive and dead until we open the box, that the unobserved is both there and not.