I know I wrote letters to people with no address on this earth, I know that you are dead. But I hear you. I hear all of you. We were here. Our lives matter.

Words aren't good enough for a lot of things, but we have to try.

I have found that sometimes, moments get stuck in your body. They are there, lodged under your skin like hard seed-stones of wonder or sadness or fear, everything else growing up around them. And if you turn a certain way, if you fall, one of them could get free. It might dissolve in your blood, or it might spring up a whole tree. Sometimes, once one of them gets out, they all start to go.

I guess somethings turned out too sad even to be explained with a bases-loaded strikeout.

Our flushing hearts, trying to climb to the stars- how with the wrong wind, we can fall.

The story seemed to start such a long time ago. It didn't fit into my brain, even. It started when i figured out how things could get broken (...) It started when knowing was sadder than all of the things themselfs.

All there is is this deep-in-my-stomach feeling of terror, and this fear that there is no really happy ending anymore.