Whatever you do, however terrible, however hurtful, it all makes sense, doesn’t it? Inside your head. You never meet anybody who thinks they’re a bad person or that they’re cruel. Don’t you put the past in a room, in the cellar and lock the door and just never go in there? Because that’s what I do. Then you meet someone special and all you want to do is toss them the key, say open up, step inside, but you can’t because it’s dark, and there are demons, and if anybody saw how ugly it was. I keep wanting to do that, fling open the door, let the light in, clean everything out. If I could get a huge eraser and rub everything out. Starting with myself.
