This is not something insignificant. This is real. This is happening, and this is ours.
But death is not freedom. For a moment, it can look like freedom. But then it's death. Anything. Something. Nothing.
Yes, time can be buoyed by wordlessness, but it needs to be anchored in words.
It's the secret smile you get from knowing that, somewhere, there is someone who is yours. Not in the sense that you own her or control her. She is yours because you can say anything to her, whenever you need to. And she can do the same, whenever she needs to.
The way you argued with me, you would have thought that we were debating the existence of God or whether or not we should move in together. These kinds of fights can never be won – even if you’re the victor, you’ve hurt the other person, and there has to be some loss associated with that.
When you live as I do, you cannot indulge in jealousy. If you do, it will rip you apart.
If you stare at the center of the universe, there is coldness there. A blankness. Ultimately, the universe doesn't care about us. Time doesn't care about us. That's why we have to care about each other.
You like him because he's a lost boy. Believe me, I've seen it happen before. But do you know what happens to girls who love lost boys? They become lost themselves. Without fail.
There has to be a moment at the beginning when you wonder whether you’re in love with the person or in love with the feeling of love itself.
You think fairy tales are only for girls? Here's a hint - ask yourself who wrote them. I assure you, it wasn't just the women. It's the great male fantasy - all it takes is one dance to know that she's the one. All it takes is the sound of her song from the tower, or a look at her sleeping face. And right away you know - this is the girl in your head, sleeping or dancing or singing in front of you. Yes, girls want their princes, but boys want their princesses just as much. And they don't want a very long courtships. They want to know immediately.
People are always separable.
But you have to figure that if it’s too hard to hang on, then maybe you should let go.
I feel the universe is telling me something. And it doesn't even matter if it's true or not. What matters is that I feel it, and believe it.
In small letters, someone has written NEVER FORGET on one of the slats. I know it's supposed to be a pledge, but it feels like a curse. Don't we have to forget some of it? Don't we have to forget this feeling? If we don't, how will we live?
That's what the voices in your head are for, to get you through the silent parts.
I don't want to fall. All I want to do is stand on solid ground.
I am constantly torn between killing myself and killing everyone around me.
That whole week, we started to divide things into those two categories: anything or something. A piece of jewelry bougth at a department store: anything. A piece of jewelry made by hand: something. A dollar: anything. A sand dollar: something. A gift certificate: anything. An IOU for two hours of starwatching: something. A drunk kiss at a party: anything. A sober kiss alone in a park: something.
I hope that George doesn't internalize her scare tactics. I want to argue with her, tell her that "sins of the flesh" is just a control mechanism -- if you demonize a person's pleasure, then you can control his or her life. I can't say how many times this tool has been wielded against me, in a variety of forms. But I see no sin in a kiss. I only see sin in the condemnation.
There are few things harder than being born into the wrong body.
It's hard to answer a question you haven't been asked. It's hard to show you tried unless you end up succeeding.
There will always be more questions. Every answer leads to more questions. The only way to survive is to let some of them go.
lying awake beside you, these thoughts run through my head.
I'm always standing on the edge of something bad.
There's no way for them to take away my sadness, but they can make sure I am not empty of all the other feelings.
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