Nothing else in the whole wide world matters as much as avenging your sister.
You are not a handgun. More like a pellet gun. Maybe even a slingshot.
May your glass always be full, may there always be a roof over your head, and may you dirty sinners be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you’re dead.
The green of these mountains in my lungs smelled like an old friend, one who wouldn’t tell lies to you. One who understood. One who knew pain didn’t go away just because you wanted it to. And when I exhaled, only the sweet scent of smoke and s dry mouth remained. But the scent was enough to rekindle the memory.