And at the start of every new day, I still believed I could choose my own beginning, one that was scrubbed clean of everything past

I just have to come clean and admit I am an extremely, painfully slow writer. I have this unfortunate - or fortunate, I'm not sure which is correct - habit of editing while I'm writing which everyone tells me that I shouldn't do that. But that's just the way I write and I think it's important to stay true to your own writing style and momentum.

Life's only as bad as you make it out to be. It's go nothing to do with the way it is.

And at the start of every new day, I still believed I could choose my own beginning, one that was scrubbed clean of everything past

Hope was based on the unknown, and I liked knowing things. Like that I was going to fail. Failure had better odds.

He had no idea that grief was a reward. That it only came to those who were loyal, to those who loved more than they were capable of.