When you wake up, I’ll be gone.
It’s okay, some things are meant to die.
I think I would choose a lion over a lamb, despite how gentle and kind, any day.
She was like a shooting star: bright, brilliant and gone too soon.
I don’t talk in “hopefully”s. I talk in “honestly”s.
I guess we weren’t an ending worth exploring.
Sometimes I catch myself calling us a ‘we’. There is no we. There’s just a me, and she’s crazy.