Writing Isn't Letters On Paper. It's Communication.

I Adapt To Things Quickly, Including Good Things, Which I Wish I Could Shut Off Sometimes. My Friends Have To Keep Reminding Me How Crazy My Life Has Become, And Then It Hits Me Fresh And I Just Slap My Forehead And Think, "wait, What... ?"

Music? Music Is Life! It’s Physical Emotion - You Can Touch It! It’s Neon Ecto-energy Sucked Out Of Spirits And Switched Into Sound Waves For Your Ears To Swallow. Are You Telling Me, What, That It’s Boring? You Don’t Have Time For It?

...wanting Change Is Step One, But Step Two Is Taking It.

I Hate That She's Hurt. I Hate That She's Been Hurt, By Me And By Others, Throughout The Entire Arc Of Her Life. I Barely Remember Pain, But When I See It In Her I Feel It In Myself, In Disproportionate Measure. It Creeps Into My Eyes, Stinging, Burning.

Warm Bodies Ended Up Becoming One Of The Most Personal Relatable Things I've Written.