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If someone killed my mom, I would burn the world to cinders.
Of course, as with everything else in life, what we knew could have been a pebble at the bottom of the mountain of everything we ignored, and there was a chance at least half that pebble was bullshit.
Moving away felt like giving up to me, like becoming another desterrado, living in exile in a racist country that had kept my homeland a colony for too damn long and would forever treat us like second-class citizens.
Death is always there and it can show up at any moment—a bullet, a bad fall, a heart attack, a car accident—but when it shows up like this, it eats a piece of your soul and rents a room in your nightmares.
Strange how ruined lives can sometimes effortlessly dish out salvation.
“That’s how it always is. Someone is always trying to eat you, you know? We’re surrounded by sharks even when we’re on land.”
Bad things were coming and the world knew it.
Sometimes the only thing holding a friendship together is the stuff you don’t say.
They say anger is poison to your soul, but I think it feeds other parts of you. It can be like gasoline for your soul, but also like cocaine for your spirit.
He was fucked, sure, but he had a beautiful fucking soul.
We’re not afraid of being alone in the dark; we’re afraid of not being alone in the dark.
Vengeance can be the world’s most powerful motor, but if you’re successful, then you kill that motor and you’re left with nothing.