Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.

I hate handing over money to people for doing what I could just as easily do myself, it makes me nervous.

I do not love; I do not love anybody except myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit.

Only I wasn't steering anything, not even myself.

I wanted to tell her that if only something were wrong with my body it would be fine, I would rather have anything wrong with my body than something wrong with my head, but the idea seemed so involved and wearisome that I didn’t say anything. I only burrowed down further in the bed.

There ought, I thought, to be a ritual for being born twice - patched, retreaded and approved for the road.

Wear your heart on your skin in this life.