Everyone just wasting time because they have so much of it to waste, minutes slipping by on who's with who and did you hear.

I'd rather die my way than live yours.

That's the way I feel, at least: like there's a real me and a reflection of me, and I have no way of telling which is which.

My stomach gets that hollowed-out feeling. It's amazing how words can do that, just shred your insides apart.

Everything in me feels fluttering and free, like I could take off from the ground at any second. Music, I think, he makes me feel like music.

And it's the funniest thing: as soon as I see it, the whistling in my ears stops and the feeling of terror drains away, and I realize this whole time I haven't been falling at all. I've been floating.

This was what being cured was like: like being in a fishbowl, circling always inside the same glass.