What is it about a secret love that makes everything they do shine, everything they say sound like a sonnet and every expression they make perfect, when to everyone else you speak to they're quite ordinary. It's a cruel sort of thing.

I dropped my juggling balls and my face grew embarrassed. It wasn't until then that I looked around the circus of life and noted all were too consumed on their own juggling act to see. This is when I learned to have fun, and kick the balls instead.

What is truth? Truth is what causes you to breathe again when lies have told you, you are already dead.

When I was younger I feared the dark, wondering what evil was watching me. Now it's different, for now it's a game of sneaking the light back on and laughing at how quickly the evil fleas.

Yes, I do feel the world revolves around me. After all, I am the main character of my own life.

A secret love is beautiful, sweet and sacred when it's just a light infatuation; but when that person reaches over and touches you in the heart, making it alive in a way it has never known, that secret love becomes frightening, because you can never make them love you, you would never want to make them love you...but all the same, no matter which way you view it, they don't love you...and your heart doesn't know how to beat the same.

I always thought death was cruel, a silent destroyer of breath, of hope, of life. Now I understand it is physical death, the perception of it, the fear of it, which often saves us; for death marks the end of our flesh causing us to question the future of what we are.