I guess there are some things you never get used to.

It is a beautiful world for the people who get to play the fist.

There's always some relief in giving up.

At a certain point your brain stops to rationalize things. At a certain point it gives up, shuts off, shuts down.

The walls are covered -crammed- with writing. No. Not writing. They are covered with a single four-letter word that has been inscribed over and over, on every available surface. Love.

Mistake, mistake, mistake. A strange word: stinging, somehow.

It's so strange how life works: You want something and you wait and wait and feel like it's taking forever to come. Then it happens and it's over and all you want to do is curl back up in that moment before things changed.