If you cross a line and nothing happens, the line loses meaning.
Music, I think, he makes me feel like music
Black is too morbid; red will set them on edge; pink is too juvenile; orange is freakish
Everything ends, people move on, they don't look back. It's how they should be.
Hate isn’t the most dangerous thing, he’d said. Indifference is.
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.