Her mind is an unquiet one, words and thoughts and impulses constantly crashing into each other.
You know what happens to girls who loves lost boys? They become lost themselves.
Once the storm comes out, the landscape changes. What you had before is altered in some way. And you have a choice: build something new and better from what is left or abandon it.
Beauty comes naturally, but it's hard to be stunning by accident.
I am breathing. In dreams, we never bother to breathe.
It is an awful thing to be betrayed by your body. And it’s lonely, because you feel you can’t talk about it.
It's the way you say thank you like you're genuinely thankful. I have never met anyone else who does that on a regular basis.
instead i head to the computer and it's like i turn into a little girl who's just seen her first rainbow. i get all giddy and nervous and hopeful and despairing and i tell myself not to look obsessively at my buddy list, but it might as well be projected onto the insides of my eyelids. at 8:05 his name pops up, and i start to count. i only get to twelve before his IM pops up.
And I told you: I think of a photograph you took of me, up in Montreal. You told me to jump in the air, so in the picture, my feet are off the ground. Later, I asked you why you wanted me to do that, and you told me it was the only way to get me to forget about the expression on my face. You were right. I am completely unposed, completely genuine. In my mind’s eye, I picture myself like that, reacting to you.
I would always wait to take you home.
Then I go in the den and turn on Law & Order, since the only thing i can really count on in life is that whenever I turn on the TV, there will be a Law & Order episode.
You leave the phone on beside you as you fall asleep. I sit in my bed and listen to your breathing, until I know you are safe, until I know you no longer need me for the night.
I was horribly bookish, to the point of coming right out and saying it, which I knew was not socially acceptable. I particularly loved the adjective bookish, which I found other people used about as often as ramrod or chum or teetotaler.
Moments into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into days. Days into years. Years into possibility. This will linger.
These words are now mine, but soon they’ll be ours.
Even if neither of us got what we wanted, we found freedom in the third choices.
The key is to never recognize these imbalances. To not let the dauntingness daunt us.
I find I very rarely live up to my words. And since you know me primarily through my words, there are oh so many ways I can disappoint.
And who am I to blow against the wind?
Love is so painful, how could you ever wish it on anybody? And love is so essential, how could you ever stand in its way?
So I said I wanted you to stay, even though nothing could stay the same.
That lasting things do, in fact, last.
Fate has a strange way of making plans.
next to it was a dvd called 'as i get laid dying,' which had a hospital scene on the front. it was like grey's anatomy, only with less grey and more anatomy.
He never wears a watch (his own rebellion against time, against watching).
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