Every person I’ve ever loved has some how become toxic to me. A living, breathing reminder of why I was always better off alone.
I love too hard, too quickly and then sometimes I don’t love enough. I guess I’m just bad at love.

I’m a mess of unfinished thoughts.

There are people who are uncomfortable with a silence, who rush to fill it by saying anything, thinking that anything is better than nothing, but I am not one of those people. I am not at all disquieted by silence.

It all went to hell when attacking what we hate became more important than defending what we love.

I make hasty decisions, I rush into things sometimes, but I’ve never regretted it at all. I think if something feels right just go with it.

Once in a while it really hits people that they don’t have to experience the world in the way they have been told to.

Sometimes you just need to go off the grid and get your soul right.

I didn’t grow old or mature, I grew tired.

I wanted it so much. I don’t know why I wanted it so much.

She was so much better at being alone; being alone came more naturally to her. She led a life of deliberate solitude, and if occasional loneliness crept in, she knew how to work her way out… Or even better, how to sink in and absorb its particular comforts.