“You are not even a thing,” she said, “but less than a thing. You are the negative outline cast off from some other thing; not a shadow but a small sliver of another.”
Flesh, the damn stuff
I don’t even want to think about flesh
I have seen the gruesome parts of this place and I have wandered in and stayed anyway
He was in love with his destiny, and even his march toward ruin seemed noble and beautiful to him.
A kind word—or, God forbid, a hug—sure would go a long way.
The less I care
The more they like me
The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
I loved a girl, once
That was pretty nice
I guess I still love her
Probably will forever
Night after night I lie in bed and go through my phone and somehow I can’t find a damn person who I could talk to in any meaningful way.
She had asked me, I remembered, in October of that terrible year, where we should go together to live happily ever after. It had never occurred to me that we would move onward as a single unit—as two humans with a shared destiny. I barely understood then (and understand even less now, maybe) how that sort of thing worked. You spend all this time with a person, then they really get their hooks in you, and you look around and God damn it, you’ve got your hooks in her, too, and suddenly you’re moving places together because to go alone would be too painful.