The difficult thing isn’t living with other people, it’s understanding them.

Alone had always felt like an actual place to me, as if it weren’t a state of being, but rather a room where I could retreat to be who I really was.

I’ll read my books and I’ll drink coffee and I’ll listen to music, and I’ll bolt the door.

I was with them and yet I was alone.

I had two longings and one was fighting the other. I wanted to be loved and I wanted to be always alone.

I don’t trust anybody. Not anybody. And the more that I care about someone, the more sure I am they’re going to get tired of me and take off.

It is easy to disappear when no one is looking at you.