You are what you are. Find a way to live with it.

There are moments in my life when I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly what I’m supposed to do. I pay attention to them. They’re my cosmic landmarks, letting me know I’m on the right path. Now that I’m older and can look back and see where I missed a turn here and there, and know the price I paid for those oversights, I try to look sharper at the present.

Now you know how I justify my addictions—if I can pay less for it than I would at Wal-Mart, I get to have it.

Life is too hard, too much to handle. Nobody told me there’d be days like these. How could nobody tell me there’d be days like these? How could they let me grow up like that—happy and pink and stupid?

Life is not black and white. The closes we ever get to either of those colors is wearing them.

Like sheep, sidhe-seers herd by nature, until you *want* them to go somewhere. Then they're all fluffy bottoms and broken.

I didn’t ask. Some things are better left unsaid. He looked at me and I shivered. I never get enough of him. Never will. He lives. I breathe. I want. Him. Always. Fire to my ice. Ice to my fever. Later we would go to bed, and when he rose over me, dark and vast and eternal, I’d know joy.