The kiss I like the most is one of the slow ones. It’s as much breath as touch, as much no as yes.
We have fallen through the surface and are deep in the trenches of need.
Did it matter that we both drank coffee at night and both happened to go to Barcelona the summer after our senior year? In the long view, was it such a revelation that we were both ticklish and that we both liked dogs more than cats? Really, weren’t these facts just placeholders until the long view could truly assert itself? We were painting by numbers, starting with the greens. Because that happened to be our favorite color. And this, we figured, had to mean something.
We are so much louder together than apart. We are so much brighter together than apart.
Every person is a possibility.
That’s what makes it a good photograph. You think you know what’s going on in her head. but the truth? No matter how good a photograph is, you can never tell what’s going on in the person’s mind. There’s no way to get from here to there.
The air feels cleaner because when the world is below we allow ourselves to breathe fully. When no one else is around, we open ourselves to the quieter astonishments that enormity can offer.
I am trying not to think of endings.
This, I’ve discovered, is the best way to waste time, because it isn’t really wasted – surrounded by friends, talking crap and sometimes talking for real, with snacks around and something on a screen.
I should have felt proud, but instead I felt awful. That I had let him down so many times, that I had been a horrible brother. That he loved me anyway. That maybe he knew more about life than I did, even if I’d had more experience. Because knowing about life is really about knowing how it should be, not just how it is.
I try to sketch her in my notebook, but I am not an artist, and all that comes out are the wrong shapes, the wrong lines. I cannot hold on to anything that’s her.
And the thing I hate the most is knowing how much hinges on my reaction, how your unburdening can only lead to me being burdened.
We have become – although I’d never say this out loud – something like a model couple. The secret? We like each other. I mean, we really like each other. We know when to keep our space and when to share it.
Maybe it’s because nothing ever tastes the same as it did when you were ten.
You have to believe that the opposites reach for each other. I had to understand that when I was thinking I am lost, I was actually finding that I was lost. the two opposite things were true at the same time: found and lost.
What’s the point of all this magic, if no one really knows how to use it? But I guess the same could be said about life. Which is another form of magic, only less showy.
But this is the real thing, the hug that let’s you feel held.
A shiver I’ve never felt.
I can’t imagine it. It doesn’t feel like a believable future. Which feels like a cop-out. Because who wants to end up with a future that was always believable?
Really, he could be anywhere now, because he wants to be nowhere.