I Came To Witness. I Stay To

I Knew I Was Too Late—and I Was Glad Something Bloodthirsty Waited In The Wings. For In Failing At This, I Forfeited Any Desire To Live.

It's Not The Face, But The Expressions On It. It's Not The Voice, But What You Say. It's Not How You Look In That Body, But The Thing You Do With It. You Are Beautiful.

Even If We All Want You Here, You Don't Belong Until You Decide You Do.

I Was Like A Lost Moon―my Planet Destroyed In Some Cataclysmic, Disaster-movie Scenario Of Desolation―that Continued, Nevertheless, To Circle In A Tight Little Orbit Around The Empty Space Left Behind, Ignoring The Laws Of Gravity.

Don't Be Self-conscious, If I Could Dream At All, It Would Be About You. And I'm Not Ashamed Of It.