It occurs to me with rising concern that a blow-in can also blow away.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom,’” Oscar says to me, still balancing on the back legs of his chair. “William Blake.
Each new self standing on the last one’s shoulders until we’re these wobbly people poles?
What are we going to do with all this love?
To be clear: More than anything, I wish I hadn’t gone into that closet with Brian. But their story wasn’t over that night.
Mom has a massive sunflower for a soul so big there’s hardly any room in her for organs.
I’m convinced the storm’s going to bust down the walls. Then it does and I’m remembering Dad’s dream because it’s happening.
A veces uno se desconecta de su propia vida y, cuando lo hace, cuesta bastante encontrar el camino de vuelta.
Deseamos con nuestras manos; eso es lo que hacemos los artistas.
I wish I were a horse.
The feet of ghosts never touch the ground.
She mesmerized lecture halls of students with her drama and passion, with ideas critics called daring and groundbreaking.
I was going to show your brother Gemini-the Twins.
I let it. I let my heart break.
Gotta bounce,” I say, remembering that’s what I heard someone say to someone sometime somewhere, at school or maybe it was on TV, or in a movie, probably not even from this decade, but who cares, all I know is I have to get away before I evaporate or crumple or cry.
This is wishing with your hands.
I’m so happy I’m not a horse!
I find her and find her and find her but I can’t find her.
The sky’s gone blue: azure, the ocean bluer: cerulean, the trees are swirls of every hella freaking green on earth and bright thick eggy yellow is spilling over everything. Awesome. Doomsday’s most definitely been cancelled. Landscape: When God Paints Outside The Lines.
Or maybe a person is just made up of a lot of people.