Because it is senior year I have begun to see things as potential absences. The things I love will become the things I’ll miss.
You know what’s a great metaphor for love? Sleeping beauty. Because you have to plow through this incredible thicket of thorns in order to get to beauty, and even then, when you get there, you still have to wake her up. – Tiny Cooper.
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.
It’s like, you know how sometimes you see a really sexy baby? Wait...
We love and we feel and we try and we hope.
If smart people are parodying it, that’s a sure sign that some less smart people are believing it.
In my experience, desire is desire, love is love.
I don’t get this at all. It’s like protesting the fact that some people are red-haired.
This, I think, is how people survive: Even when horrible things have been done to us, we can still find gratitude in one another.
That no matter what i did, I would always be missing something else. And the only way to live, the only way to be happy, was to make sure the things I didn’t miss meant more to me than the things I missed.
I asked you what you wanted and you said you didn’t want anything. And I told you I wasn’t planning on giving you anything; I was planning on giving you something.
Dispel, v. It was the way you said, “I have something to tell you.” I could feel the magic drain from the room.
A sound waiting to be a word.
The secret to living long is to have something to live for.
Maybe there’s a way to keep us in this moment. Not the sad part. But the coming together part.
I want to know why this is such a part of me. I want to know why this thing that happened to other people has happened so much to me. I keep looking for the lesson.
Breathing is hard. When you cry so much, it makes you realize that breathing is hard.
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?
We just want to walk. Our legs need to move to keep our minds from collapsing.
It will affect me in ways I can’t even begin to get my mind around. This day is a dark crater. There is no room for songs. The songs are wrong. Every song is wrong. And I don’t know what to do without music.