a match. someone to light me up. someone to burn the proof of the things that I've done.
Hunger hurts and I want him so bad, oh, it kills 'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold Hunger hurts but starvin' works when it costs Too much to love
Now say you're a bird too. If you're a bird, I'm a bird.
The fantasy is simple. Pleasure is good, and twice as much pleasure is better. That pain is bad, and no pain is better. But the reality is different. The reality is that pain is there to tell us something, and there's only so much pleasure we can take without getting a stomach ache. And maybe that's okay. Maybe some fantasies are only supposed to live in our dreams.
"Well, I had one that I was playing Quidditch the other night," said Ron, screwing up his face in an effort to remember. "What do you think that means?" "Probably that you're going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something," said Harry, turning the pages of The Dream Oracle without interest.