He made a mosaic with peices of his heart. he called it sorrow. they called it art.

She tried to clean up the mess her heart made. she swept it under the bed.

He dreaded the day when the fortune cookie was right about her

You make me feel like i want to use all these words i dont know. like ailurophile.

In the mirror she thought, "what's wrong with me now". Then she thought "whats NOT wrong with me"?

She tried so hard to tell herself she was beautiful each morning. she hated lying to herself.

He never liked using microphones. After all, it made him so much more important than he really was.

My cat died last sunday. All day I cried and sulked. And considered when I could finally go look at puppies.

The conversations we had have dwindled down to "lols".. i cant help wondering what you're doing behind that screen.

Every direction was scanned. Every angle inspected. She searched for life but all she found was death.