As usual, no one's ever around when you need them.

This is what it means to be in the middle of love, I thought. Being in the middle of love is like being in the middle of a war zone.

And if my aunt had balls she'd be my uncle.

Thoughts are king, Trixie, king!

I try to find meaning anywhere I can. It's the only way I know how to validate my existence.

I was having an epiphany. A moment of supreme clarity, leading to what I dubbed a “realization of solitude” that goes like this: I’m lonely. But when I left that girl in the window I was sure I’d never felt more godforsaken in my life. There’s a big difference between being alone and being lonely. And I’m guessing that once you’ve discovered this distinction you can’t go back to solitary confinement without serious emotional repercussions.

Nobody, and I mean nobody, ever started a revolution playing by the rules