El diario de Tiara

I just want him, broken or not. I want all his uneven pieces.

You could cut me open and devour everything that I am. I would let you, I'd ask you to. But I have no idea what it means to you. What I mean to you.

If someone had given me a piece of paper and asked me to list everything I liked, everything I dreamed of, everything that I was sure would make me happy, you would have been the final product of it.

Oh, sleep. Nothing else could ever bring me such pleasure, such freedom, the power to feel and move and think and imagine, safe from the miseries of my waking consciousness.

You’re it for me. Whether it’s today, tomorrow, a year, or decades from now, that’ll never change.

It was a lovely body, but the inmate, the soul, was more than worthy of that lodging.

Maybe you're not meant for me the way I'm meant for you, but I'm going to choose you anyway, over and over and over again.

Humans can’t truly be gifted with a mind to wonder and create and yet be forced to live in an endless cycle of money and work.