How can it be so unclear to her when it's like the fingers on my hand to me?
Love can make you immortal
If I stay. If I live. It's up to me.
So, this is how it's become? This is how I've become? A walking contradiction? I'm surrounded by people and feel alone. I claim to crave a bit of normalcy but now that I have some, it's like I don't know what to do with it, I don't know how to be a normal person anymore.
And our lips. There isn't enough skin, enough spit, enough time, for the lost years that our lips are trying to make up for as they find each other. We kiss. The electric current switches to high. The lights throughout all of Brooklyn must be surging.
The bow is so old, its horsehair is glue Sent to the factory, just like me and like you So how come they stayed your execution? The audience roars its standing ovation "Dust.
It's nice, this. The canal." He looks at me. "You." "I'll bet you say that to all the canals.
And this is the truth. Because I may be only eighteen, but it already seems pretty obvious that the world is divided into two groups: the doers and the watchers. The people things happen to and the rest of us, who just sort of plod on with things. The Lulus and the Allysons. It never occurred to me that by pretending to be Lulu, I might slip into that other column, even for just a day.
...no way through it but through it," I tell myself.
I know that unlike that night, tonight I won't kiss her. Or touch her. Or even see her up close. Tonight, I'll listen. And that'll be enough.
The politeness was painful. I wanted to push through it, to return to the glow of the night of the concert, but I was unsure of how to get back there.
I'm also starting to wonder something else. If maybe the point of this crazy quest I'm on wasn't to help me find Willem. Maybe it was to help me find someone else entirely.
No one is who they pretend to be
It feels like the city is telling secrets down here, privy only to those who think to listen.
I want you to play me like a cello.
But it's a big ocean. It's an even bigger world. And maybe we've gotten as close as we're supposed to get.
It was just one day and it's been just one year. But maybe one day is enough. Maybe one hour is enough. Maybe time has nothing at all to do with it". Willem
Standing here, in this quiet house where I can hear the birds chirping out back, I think I’m kind of getting the concept of closure. It’s no big dramatic before-after. It’s more like that melancholy feeling you get at the end of a really good vacation. Something special is ending, and you’re sad, but you can’t be that sad because, hey, it was good while it lasted, and there’ll be other vacations, other good times.
Nothing happens without intention, Willem. Nothing. This theory of yours - life is rules by accidents - isn't that just one huge excuse for passivity?
I don’t want to be that person, who just takes things.
Okay, maybe this was the meant to be: the universe I knew, loved nothing more than balance.
It takes certain kind of naiveté, or perhaps just stupidity, to know things will end and still hope otherwise.
I don't know how to be a friend. I don't know how to be anything.
I realize it’s not just Willem I’m looking for; it’s Lulu too.
he kissed me hard. "Promise me. Promise me you'll spend New Year's with me next year," he whispered into my ear.
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