What would you do if you were me? Tell me. Please tell me! But you're far from this. Your fingers turn the strangeness of these pages that somehow connect my life to yours. Your eyes are safe. The story is just another few hundred pages of your mind. For me, it's here. It's now. I have to go through with this, considering the cost at every turn. Nothing will be the same.

The song was born on her breathe and died at her lips.

It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words. You bastards, she thought. You lovely bastards. Don’t make me happy. Please, don’t fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this.

The consequence of this is that I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both.

All my friends seem to be smart arses. Don't ask me why. Like many things, it is what it is.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking such things...' She let the sentence die its own death

...one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death.