I want words at my funeral. But I guess that means you need life in your life.
It's funny, don't you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.
Believe it or not--it takes a lot of love to hate you like this.
The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this.
Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.
Do we spend most of our days trying to remember or to forget? Do we spend most of our time running towards or away from our lives?