You went and broke our lives. You are so much worse than a cheater. You killed something. And you killed it when its back was turned.
She stays in the same spot, anchored by the profound, desperate loneliness of a bad relationship.
I’m not good at relationships I always manage to find the flaws sometimes in others but mostly my own. I foretell the ending then go and create the cause save myself and end up alone.
He doesn’t just look upset – he looks newly blind. There is such loss in his eyes, and it permeates every other part of his body.
As if when someone close to us dies, we momentarily trade places with them, in the moment right before. And as we get over it, we’re really living their life in reverse, from death to life, from sickness to health.
He is much stronger than I think I am. He is mischievous, outgoing, ready to soar through the clouds, while I often feel like the cloud itself.
Once you experience enormity, it lingers everywhere you look, and want to be every word you say.
People take love’s continuity for granted, just as they take their body’s continuity for granted. They don’t realize that the best thing about love is its regular presence. Once you can establish that, it’s an added foundation to your life.
Maybe language is kind, giving us these double meanings. Maybe it’s trying to teach us a lesson, that we can always be two things at once.
I’m swimming in your cadences that you permeate my very language.
I am starting to get tired of relying on words.
It is much harder to lie to someone’s face. But. It is also much harder to tell the truth to someone’s face.
I suspected that what happens in hotel rooms rarely lasts outside of them. I suspected that when something was a beginning and an ending at the same time, that meant it could only exist in the present.
I know it was more than that. But it was also less than that, too.
It’s hard to answer a question you haven’t been asked. It’s hard to show you tried unless you end up succeeding.
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.
Now when I have to remember a date, all I have to do is consult my rap sheet.
Are you going to be playing for the pure thrill of unreluctant desire?
All this hoping for something- or someone- that’s maybe hopeless. I’m having a hard time processing what I am supposed to believe, or if I’m even supposed to. There is too much information, and I don’t like a lot of it.
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.