Run Run Run Run.

Here's an irony: I'm the most alone in a crowd; give me enough time by myself and I am a whole, happy, contented girl.

Scuttlation, vacation, alienation.

I just want to talk to you. In that crowd, it's like I'm being washed downstream in the rapids away from you. It's crazy. It's only mornings, Mr. Shepherd, that I walk on grass, wet and discomfited by my nights and you comfort me. I wish it was all day. With you. just you. And I wouldn't need anything more. Lack nothing.