I can't believe I'm breathing and happy and thriving.
I didn't know what my fate was as far as being alive.
The ideal length of time for sex to last is the entire relationship, breaking only for snacks.
I talk about airplanes and things like that while my scars are on clear view.
I worked at restaurants and coffee shops and babysitting and just whatever I could do to make money.
I can't imagine just dusting my pants off and going about my life like, "Phew! I sure made it through a tough spot, now where am I headed?" I feel more of an obligation to be helpful.