The past is made out of facts… I guess the future is just hope.
…thinking all this maximalism would somehow generate happiness?
Why is it beautiful that humanity keeps coming back? So does herpes.
What happened? How did I get here? How could I have known that my choices mattered?
Una vez que has llegado al fin del mundo importa muy poco qué ruta tomaste.
I would like my life to be a movie so I could cut to a montage.
I am Dead, but it’s not so bad. I’ve learned to live with it.
How do I appear unthreatening when her lover’s blood is running down my chin?