I am amiable. Vague. Puzzled. Messy-haired.

When you say words a lot they don't mean anything. Or maybe they don't mean anything anyway, and we just think they do.

Stories are the things that allow us to persuade each other that we're human.

He was alone in the darkness once more, but the darkness became brighter and brighter until it was burning like the sun.

Eyes as black and as shiny as chips of obsidian stared back into his. They were eyes like black holes, letting nothing out, not even information.

Adult helplessness destroys children. Or it forces them to become tiny adults of their own.

I think hell is something you carry around with you, not somewhere you go.