How do you juggle it all' people constantly ask me, with an accusatory look in their eyes. 'You're fucking it all up, aren't you' their eyes say.

All this is to say that it’s not your fault that you’re fucked up. It’s your fault if you stay fucked up, but the foundation of your fuckedupedness is something that’s been passed down through generations of your family, like a coat of arms or a killer cornbread recipe, or in my case, equating confrontation with heart failure.

Nobody knows what goes on between two hearts including, more often than not, the people in whose chests they beat.

Our hearts beat so loud, the neighbours think we’re fucking, when I’m just trying to find the nerve to touch your face.