...the man of my dreams is a girl.

Take it as a token. Because tomorrow when I go, I want you to believe friends are possible.

This is my fault. Mine. Making her think I'd be here for her.

This is my vision-what I imagine I'll pass through on my way to the light. The blue sky, the clouds, the rays of light.

I never defended myself. Not once. I never said, "Excuse me? What gives you the right to insult and demean me?" I let them steal my dignity.

How does he do it? Live. With the fear of death every day. I don't fear death as much as I fear the thought of living.

Yet, when we talked, when we were together, she seemed so familiar. Seemed to know who I was, where I was coming from. She knew me better than I knew myself, I think. She was easy to be with. And I wanted to be with her, like all the time.