She Was Like A Drowning Person, Flailing,

It Seems Entirely Possible To Me That Horrible Things Can Be Going On Without Us Becoming Horrible People.

She Was A Genius Of Sadness, Immersing Herself In It, Separating Its Numerous Strands, Appreciating Its Subtle Nuances. She Was A Prism Through Which Sadness Could Be Divided Into Its Infinite Spectrum.

I Think And Think And Think, I‘ve Thought Myself Out Of Happiness One Million Times, But Never Once Into It.

I Did Not Need To Know If He Could Love Me. I Needed To Know If He Could Need Me.

I Wish My Days Could Be Washed Away Like The Chalk Lines Of My Days.