Writing helps me process things that are happening to me.

I am not dead inside. I still care about right and wrong.

I've always been in this sort of perpetual state of existential longing. I feel like something's missing.

My music - that's the one area I won't let myself be pushed around. But in other parts of my life, I'm a confused mess.

I was just dying to get out of my twenties.

People in L.A. don't have to brace themselves against the cold; they slack off permanently, and their brains turn to mush.

I see a long lost home in his eyes. He sees a nice hotel in mine.