We're killers, all of us: We kill our lives, our past selves, the things that mattered. We bury them under slogans and excuses.

Things change after you die, though, I guess because dying is the loneliest thing you can do.

willing me to understand: that people should be sacrificed to causes, that beauty can be built on the backs of the dead.

Somewhere in the endless spinning of eternity that one, tiny, fraction of a second where our lips met is lost forever.

When you love someone, when you care for someone, you have to do it through the good and the bad. Not just when you're happy and it's easy.

Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge.

Sometimes I feel as though there are two me's, one coasting directly on top of the other: the superficial me, who nods when she's supposed to nod and says what she's supposed to say, and some other, deeper part, the part that worries and dreams... Most of the time they move along in sync and I hardly notice the split, but sometimes it feels as though I'm two whole different people and I could rip apart at any second.