""It started when I was eighteen. I moved away from my childhood home. I moved away for a girl. She had red hair and smoked cigarettes and talked about the ghosts that lived in my bedroom. She taught me what a muse was and I used her as a vessel in an ocean of ink. Over the years I grasped onto pieces of people that came in and out of my life. I soon realized I was made up of these pieces. And I never wanted to damage or lose them. I wanted to keep their edges sharp and place them into my empty spaces, like perfect geometry. Relationships were made and ruined. Everything had sentimental...