She confessed to not liking art and then laughed lighting up the car before scratching her freakishly long fingernails across the dashboard.

Yet another Christmas with you. You are shirtless, and your feet are bleeding, but I know that you will triumph in the end.

Push hard, because the world is full of sadness.

A certain angle of light that catches the dust. The smell of mildew. You’ve been slacking, not living up to your promises. All you want is someone to hold and call your own, someone who will peer into your soul and understand. But instead the consequences of your love lie like the wreckage of a plane crash in a farmer’s field on a winter morning. The grass is frozen stiff with frost and the emergency crews are arriving with their fluorescent yellow jackets.

Electronic music:

I’m thirty-five years old and I own no furniture. My assets consist of a laptop, five bicycles and an engagement ring that cannot be re-sized.