And then the screaming begins.

It's easy to be brave when they're not my fears.

I belong to the people I love, and they belong to me--they, and the love and loyaty I give them, form my identity far more than any word or group ever could.

Who cares about everyone? What about me?

Now she looks pale and small, but her eyes make me think of wide- open skies that I have never actually seen, only dreamed of.

It's strange how time can make a place shrink, make its strangeness ordinary.

I've done without doing things, like sleeping and eating, but I need to write.