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.

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.

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?

My sister lived in the moment. She said she would love the summer only when it came and warmed her. But I lived and still live in the future. Where it’s warm when it’s cold. Where dreams are not yet reality. Where the sad people are happy. The only problem with living in the future is that everyone has died, including yourself. So your plans are fiction and your predictions are fantasy. Living in the future is pure fantasy. I think that’s why I love it so dearly.

The belief in their actions can mend constellations. The ambition in their thirst for knowledge can both create and destroy.

What is infinity? I haven’t a clue.But maybe that’s the whole point I’ve been attempting to explain to you.The fact that it’s not knownOr seenOr heard.Infinity is every person, every being, every bird. Infinity is a simple mystery.It looks like a mystery.Tastes mysterious.Feels like something completely delirious. We cannot imagine what this sound could be.All we can imagine is infinity.

Life's a circle. There are no lines we can cross.