I was a protestor. I was such a protestor that I regularly protested things that might have been good for me.

I know everyone has dreams of flying, but this isn’t a dream of flying. It’s a dream of floating, and the ocean is not water but wind. I call it a dream, but it feels...

I’m dark matter. The universe inside of me is full of something, and science can’t even shine a light on it. I feel like I’m mostly made of mysteries.

I can’t imagine a universe in which I try to unlove her.