Jealousy can open the blood, it can make black roses.

I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.

A little thing, like children putting flowers in my hair, can fill up the widening cracks in my self-assurance like soothing lanolin.

Aloneness and selfness are too important to betray for company.

But everybody has exactly the same smiling frightened face, with the look that says: "I'm important. If you only get to know me, you will see how important I am. Look into my eyes. Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.

I wonder why I don't go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip on hour more of sleep and live.

I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas.