In that twisted incestuous way of fate, Mia’s a part of our history, and we’re among the shards of her legacy.
These days, you’ve gotta milk a dollar out of every dime.
Obey the muse, Liz said. She’s a fickle mistress.
One day she told me that they’d decided that my gender was divvied into two neat piles-Men and Guys. Basically, all the saints of the world: Men. The jerks, the players, the wet T-shirt contest aficionados? They were Guys.
Sleep would be so welcome. A warm blanket of black to erase everything else. Sleep without dreams.
We were both music-obsessed, each in our own way. If we didn’t entirely understand the other person’s obsession, it didn’t matter, because we understood our own.
How can it be so unclear to her when it’s like the fingers on my hand to me?
And if I’m not forgiven, then at least I’m understood.
It was selfish what I asked her to do, even if it wound up being the most unselfish thing I’ve ever done.
Whoever said that the past isn’t dead had it backward. It’s the future that’s already dead, already played out.
Neither sleet nor rain nor a half inch of snow will compel me to dress like a lumberjack.
She’s still beautiful. Not in an obvious Vanessa LeGrande or Byrn Shraeder kind of way. In a quiet way that’s always been devastating to me.
I know that all the magic kisses in the world probably couldn’t have helped him today. But I would do anything to have been able to give him one.
Okay, maybe this was the meant to be: the universe I knew, loved nothing more than balance.
The little things that happen. Sometimes they’re insignificant; other times, they change everything.
Sometimes you can’t know until you know.
You meet people, you part ways, sometimes you cross paths again. Mostly, you don’t.
Because if time can be fluid, then maybe something that is just one day can go on indefinitely.
I can keep picking small fights, or brave the big one. Time to screw my courage. Or go down trying.
Anything can happen in one day.