I’ll tell you about it if I ever get it straight in my head.

It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.

It might be because I’m a perfectionist, but I’m very strict with myself. That’s why I think I’ll never be satisfied. Is there anything in this world that is perfect or complete? It’s a never-ending repetition of finding my weaknesses and developing.

I’m always afraid of opening up when my mind is louder than my heart; afraid of what the monsters will let slip. I want to get the story out, but I keep swallowing my words and they crumble before I can put them down on paper.

Letting go doesn’t mean that you don’t care about someone anymore. It’s just realizing that the only person you really have control over is yourself.

The truth is rarely pure and never simple.