I'm Proud Of What I Write And

Failed Relationships Can Be Described As So Much Wasted Makeup. Forget The Laughs, Forget The Fights, Forget The Sex, Forget The Jealousy. But Take Off Your Hat And Observe A Moment's Silence For The Legions Of Unknown Tubes Of Foundation, Mascara, Eyeliner, Blusher And Lipstick Who Died That It Might All Have Been Possible. But Who Died In Vain.

I Know Of People Who Don't Believe It, But Depression Is An Illness, But Unlike, Say, A Broken Leg, You Don't Know When It'll Get Better.

I've Always Been Melancholic. At A Party, Everyone Would Be Looking At The Glittering Chandeliers And I'd Be Looking At The Waitress's Cracked Shoes.

I Couldn’t Be With People And I Didn’t Want To Be Alone. Suddenly My Perspective Whooshed And I Was Far Out In Space, Watching The World. I Could See Millions And Millions Of People, All Slotted Into Their Lives; Then I Could See Me—i’d Lost My Place In The Universe. It Had Closed Up And There Was Nowhere For Me To Be. I Was More Lost Than I Had Known It Was Possible For Any Human Being To Be.

There's No Doubt That Relationships Do Suffer When Circumstances Change Profoundly.