You Could Hold Me And I Could

Because There Is No Glory In Illness. There Is No Meaning To It. There Is No Honor In Dying Of.

My Lungs Sucked At Being Lungs.

Books—they Weren't Ladders Out Of The Abyss, But They Were Companions.

The Past Feels Distant, Even When It's Near. The Future Feels Assured, Even When It Isn't.

I Didn't Know Whether To Trust Alaska, And I'd Certainly Had Enough Of Her Unpredictability - Cold One Day, Sweet The Next; Irresistibly Flirty One Moment, Resistibly Obnoxious The Next. I Preferred The Colonel: At Least When He Was Cranky, He Had A Reason.