All things relative.

Don’t listen when they call you nice. Nice girls don’t sleep with married men. Nice girls can fall in love.
Nice girls break.

But you, you just keep writing the story.


To breathe through the muck of life.

You’re never quite sure if you want to stand out or fit in, but here’s the secret:

You don’t get to choose. Some people were just made to burn, to shine, to bring the whole goddamn world to its knees.

And you dear, you fucking blaze.