There is nothing to me but you. I know it’s pathetic but, oh darling, it’s true.

All that is required of you is an open mind and a little patience.

There are things we cannot vocalise because the repercussions of particular thoughts have the power to break lives.

Life’s such a fucking Hallmark film. The worst kind of shit will happen, and all you can do is turn to camera with a rueful smile and apologise to the audience for the delay. Just keep the show going. Wrap it all up in a neat quote and promise things will return to normal. I hear all the world’s a stage. I only wish it showcased a play I could exist from. If only this story would end. But you can’t say things like that out loud. It sounds slightly too suicidal.

Idle living turns me into an idiot. I can’t afford to get stupid. I’ve already been irritating. I’ve used up my passes on personality flaws.

I made myself speak without thinking. This was the only way I could sound human.

Violence can read like poetry. You just have to describe the act as if you’re in love with the way your characters bleed.

Where do they go, these dreams of mine? Do they live? Do they die? Do they fall? Do they fly?

Honestly, I don’t know what I would recommend from this story. Perhaps it is this: if you have the choice to laugh or do nothing, you might as well laugh.