Sometimes I wonder if my heart is like a black hole--it's so dense that there's no room for light, but that doesn't mean it can't still suck me in.

I once read in my physics book that the universe begs to be observed, that energy travels and transfers when people pay attention. Maybe that's what love really boils down to--having someone who cares enough to pay attention so that you're encouraged to travel and transfer, to make your potential energy spark into kinetic energy.

Anyone who has actually been that sad can tell you that there's nothing beautiful or literary or mysterious about depression.

Maybe we all have darkness inside of us and some of us are better at dealing with it than others.

I spend a lot of time wondering what dying feels like. What dying sounds like. If I’ll burst like those notes, let out my last cries of pain, and then go silent forever. Or maybe I’ll turn into a shadowy static that’s barely there, if you just listen hard enough.

I don't know how to describe it, but the more I stare at him, the more I see his grief wrapped around him like shackles he can never take off.