Hello, my name is ees Lebkuchen Spice, and I vant to show you my coooooookies.
I don't want to steal anybody's story. I very much want to use the stories that I hear to get lost in my mind, to tell a larger story.
I never understood why anyone would have sex on the floor. Until I was with you and I realized: you don't realize you're on the floor.
In school, the year was the marker. Fifth grade. Senior year of high school. Sophomore year of college. Then after, the jobs were the marker. That office. This desk. But now that school is over and I've been working at the same place in the same office at the same desk for longer than I can truly believe, I realize: You have become the marker. This is your era. And it's only if it goes on and on that will have to look for other ways to identify the time.
I mean, what if love isn't a yes-or-no question? It's not either you're in love or you're not. I mean, aren't there different levels? And maybe these things, like words and expectations and whatever, don't go on top of the love. Maybe it's like a map, and they all have their own place, and then when you see it from the sky - whoa.
Once time is lit, it will burn whether or not you're breathing it in. Even after smoke becomes air, there is the memory of smoke. I am seeing as if by the light of a match, a glimpse of my life and having it feel right.
But isn't this a dance? Isn't all of this a dance? Isn't that what we do with words? Isn't that what we do when we talk, when we spar, when we make plans or leave it to chance? Some of it's choreographed. Some of the steps have been done for ages. And the rest -- the rest is spontaneous. The rest has to be decided on the floor, in the moment, before the music ends.
So what else can I tell you?" I asked. "I mean, to get you to reveal Lily to me.
"I want you to spend the night," you said. And it was definitely your phrasing that ensured it. If you had said, "Let's have sex," or "Let's go to my place," or even "I really want you," I'm not sure we would have gone quite as far as we did. But I loved the notion that the night was mine to spend, and I immediately decided to spend it with you.
You wanna-I dunno-get coffee or something sometime?
I see no sin in a kiss. I only see sin in the condemnation
I kiss her and she finds the light switch and turns it off, and we're just lit in Pepsi-can colors and it's like we've finally found this other kind of conversation, this conversation in gestures and pulls and pushes and breaths and grasps and teases and glimmers and rubs and expectation.
If you want to live within the definition of your own truth, you have to choose to go through the initially painful and ultimately comforting process of finding it.
Fate has a strange way of making plans.
He was my first boyfriend, and I made him my everything - he was my new life, my new love, my new compass point. I guess that's the danger with firsts - you lose all sense of proportion.
You are happy even if you are afraid to admit it.
fraught, adj. Does every “I love you” deserve an “I love you too”? Does every kiss deserve a kiss back? Does every night deserve to be spent on a lover? If the answer to any of these is “No,” what do we do?
Ignorance is not bliss. Bliss is knowing the full meaning of what you have been given.
My face seems too square and my eyes too big, like I'm perpetually surprised, but there's nothing wrong with me that I can fix.
I can take everything on her face at face value, and that's valuable in a friend.
Two infinities: the one that stretches to the beginning but never touches-when you halve and halve and halve, infinitely-and then the one that spreads out into the endless, endless future, the endless, endless, distance.The set of infinities that is itself infinite.
Your life is inescapable. Unless you decide to escape it.
I had no idea what I wanted, only that I wanted something, which is the worst kind of wanting.
But if I didn’t want to be alone, then why didn’t I want to be with anyone else?
he is both the source of my happiness and the one i want to share it with.
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