He is my world and my world is him and without him there is no world.

The tunnels may be long, and twisted, and dark; but you are supposed to go through them.

I want to be healed and whole and perfect again, like a misshapen slab of iron that comes out of the fire glowing, glittering, razor-sharp.

That's all I want. Just you and me. Always.

That is the strangest thing about the world: how it looks so different from every point of view.

Still, the vivid green of the grass-where the grass is actually managing to assert itself through the dirt-seems out of place. This seems like a place where the sun should never shine: a place on the edge, at the limit, a place completely removed from time and happiness and life.

This is what happens when you try to help people. You get screwed.