“It’s like irresistible poison: I’m mesmerized by the way it’s making me feel though it has the potential to crush my soul and I drink it down anyway.”

“It’s strange,” I say, rubbing my feet against his. “I feel like I should be sad, but I’m not. It’s not that I won’t miss you, but it just feels like-”“Like everything is going to be okay anyway,” he says, finishing my thought.”

“Werewolf Property Laws1. If I want it, it’s mine.2. If I like it, it’s mine.3. If I don’t like it, I’m still not giving it to you.4. If it’s mine, it cannot appear to be yours in any way.5. If it’s yours, it will soon be mine.6. If it once was mine, it’ll be mine forever and I’ll be getting it back.7. If it looks good on me, beside me, or under me, it’s mine.8. If it’s shiny, I’ll probably make it mine.9. If I trick you out of it, it’s so fucking mine.10. If you bargain with me, you’ll soon be mine.11. If you have a soul, my dark heart wants to make it mine.”

“My day isn’t complete until I’m deep inside you. Your body wrapped around mine is the only way I feel whole. But don’t think it’s just sex and a physical response to you that I’m feeling. It’s not…it’s so much more. You’ve opened me in a way that leaves me bleeding, vulnerable. Being with you, making love to you, it only solidifies what I feel for you. I know that I’ve become one of those spouting, love-sick idiots, but what it all boils down to is three words that don’t mean nearly enough…I love you.”

“Sometimes I just want to go in a room and break things and scream. Like, it’s so much pressure all the time and if you get upset or angry, people say, ‘Are you on the rag of something?’ And it’s like I want to say, ‘No. I’m just pissed off right now. Can’t I just be pissed off? How come that’s not okay for me?’ Like my dad will say, ‘I can’t talk to you when you’re hysterical.’ And I’m totally not being hysterical! I’m just mad. And he’s the one losing it. But then I feel embarrassed anyway. So I slap on that smile and pretend everything’s okay even though it’s not.”

“I felt despair. The word’s overused and banalified now, despair, but it’s a serious word, and I’m using it seriously. For me it denotes a simple admixture — a weird yearning for death combined with a crushing sense of my own smallness and futility that presents as a fear of death. It’s maybe close to what people call dread or angst. But it’s not these things, quite. It’s more like wanting to die in order to escape the unbearable feeling of becoming aware that I’m small and weak and selfish and going without any doubt at all to die. It’s wanting to jump overboard.”