Love. I love you. I’ll always love you, my love. You are the love of my life.

Love: It will kill you and save you, both

That’s what you do for family. Anything.

At the same time I know that it’s not really their fault, at least not completely. I did my part too. I did it on a hundred different days and in a thousand different ways, and I know it. But this makes the anger worse, not better.

There is nothing else for people to do. They do not think. They feel no passion, no hatred, no sadness; they feel nothing but fear, and a desire to control. So they watch, and poke, and pry.

Is this freedom? Is it happiness? I don't know. I don't care anymore. It is different--it is being alive.

I’ve been trying so hard not to think his name, not to even breathe the idea of him