I didn't even know a heart could beat so loudly...it reminds me of an Edgar Allen Poe story we had to read in one of our...classes...it's supposed to be a story about guilt and the dangers of civil disobedience, but when I first read it I thought it seemed kind of lame and melodramatic. Now I get it, though. Poe must have snuck out a lot when he was young.

There were days I asked for it-prayed for it when I went to sleep. The belief that I would see you again, that I could find you-the hope for it-was the only thing that kept me going.

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.

There's still always the possibility that I've gone totally, clinically cuckoo. But somehow I don't think so anymore. An article I once read said that crazy people don't worry about being crazy - that's the whole problem.

Amazing how hope lives. Without air or water, with hardly anything at all to nurture it.

I'm starved for different light, a different sun,different sky.

I used to think that's what love was: knowing someone so well he was like a part of you.