“…enough of can you see me, can you hear me, enough I am human, enough I am alone and I am desperate, enough of the animal saving me, enough of the high water, enough sorrow, enough of the air and its ease, I am asking you to touch me.”

Which of my feelings are real? Which of the me's is me? The wild, impulsive, chaotic, energetic, and crazy one? Or the shy, withdrawn, desperate, suicidal, doomed, and tired one? Probably a bit of both, hopefully much that is neither.

“I wept for the poignancy of all the intensity I had lost without knowing it, and I wept for the pleasure of experiencing it again.”

“He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.”

In many ways, I was a stranger to the normal world.

me: I wish I could just let things go

“We were dreamers, both of us, unpractical, reserved, full of great theories never put to test, and like all dreamers, asleep to the waking world.”

You know, (…) we’ve got a bond in common, you and I. We are both alone in the world.

I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to, and I didn't want to. I was angrier than I'd ever been in my life. I felt sick with it.

“I was carving my name into your side and you were calling me soft, calling me gentle. I do not think you were paying attention.”