You See Yourself As Very Average, Ordinary.

I Always Find Something In Common With My Protagonist, Particularly When I Write In The First Person.

My Head Spins As I Glance Away, Refusing To Get Sucked Back Into His Gaze When So Much Is At Risk.

There Are Two Kinds Of Sorry. There Is The Sorry Imbued With Regret. And A Pure Sorry. The Kind That Is Merely Asking For Forgiveness, Nothing More.

It Was The Same Night I Gave Myself To Him Completely, Knowing That I Would Belong To Him For As Long As He Wanted To Keep Me. And, As It Turned Out, Even Longer Than That.

What's The Point Of Being Sad?" He Says. "we're Here Now.