It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool’s paradise.
She was free in her wildness. She was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city.
I hate this feeling. Like I’m here, but I’m not. Like someone cares. But they don’t. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.