My Heart Is A Teacup With Hairline

Pianos, Unlike People, Sing When You Give Them Your Every Growl. They Know How To Dive Into The Pit Of Your Stomach And Harmonize With Your Roars When You’ve Split Yourself Open. And When They See You, Guts Shining, Brain Pulsing, Heart Right There Exposed In A Rhythm That Beats Need Need, Need Need, Need Need, Pianos Do Not Run. And So She Plays.

I Didn't Tell Him That What I Was Most Scared Of, Most Haunted By, Was Something I Didn't Understand And Could Never Run Away From. It Was Myself.

The Most Beautiful People Are The Ones That Don't Look Like One Race Or Even One Sex.

It's Not That I Literally Think I'm A Fearie. It's Just That I Feel So Different From Most People. And This Idea Of A Race Living Underground In Caverns, Spending All Their Days Dancing And Playing The Fiddle And Eating Flowers And Reciting Poetry And Sharing Their Dreams, That To Me Sounds Much More Real Than The Way People Live In This World, Hating And Fighting And Wanting And Hurting.

Wish On Everything. Pink Cars Are Good, Especially Old Ones. And Stars Of Course, First Stars And Shooting Stars. Planes Will Do If They Are The First Light In The Sky And Look Like Stars. Wish In Tunnels, Holding Your Breath And Lifting Your Feet Off The Ground. Birthday Candles. Baby Teeth.