Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

Mistakes, mistakes, it's all I seem capable of at times.

Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours a day.

Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

...there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.

Very suddenly. Yes, quite suddenly, I didn't feel like I could handle my feeling of aloneness.

She rubbed her eyes, and after a long study of his face, she spoke "Is it really you?" Is it from your cheek, she thought, that I took the seed? The man nodded. His heart wobbled and he held tighter to the branches. It is.