No matter what heaven you believe in, your time on this earth will end. What I'm saying is that you should listen--really listen--to the slosh of the waves and the distant call of pacific birds. You should feel a boy's pulse against your cheek; you should fill you lungs with ocean air. While you can, I mean. You should do these things while you still can.

But life is not evens and odds and solving for x. And sadness? Sadness is an equation made of all variables.

It's easy to sort pieces that look alike. But it's two differently shaped pieces that connect.

Lace is one of the most beautiful fabrics, you know. All those holes and gaps, but it's still complete somehow - still lovely.

I couldn't master this kind of apathy, no matter how hard I tried. I was built to care - to notice, to overanalyze, to try - in a way that felt inalterable.

But what I really need is to fucking SCREAM because this feels like a war that I got thrown into, and I don't know how I can be so tired and mad at the same time.

Maybe my sadness is too much to surmount. I can't be his wings, the person who lifts him up from the sad days. I'm hopelessly earthbound, and I'm in no position to safe anyone else.

We're born alone, and we die alone.

I felt so sad that it felt like my rib cage was collapsing in on itself.

A nightmare, a memory. A thing can be both.I stare up at the ceiling. White, white, white. The emptiness of it aches.