I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you've taken something out of me and I have to search my body for scars.

You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back.

Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine. I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.

Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “I am falling to the floor crying,” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well.

Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.

Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.