I can’t seem to keep you out like I can everyone else. That I think you could devastate me.
Okay,” she says. “Trees, stars, oceans. Fine.” “And the sun, Jude.” “Oh, all right,” she says, totally surprising me. “I’ll give you the sun.” “I practically have everything now!” I say. “You’re crazy!
You asked what it would be like. This is what it will be like. I don’t want to be just friends.
I’m a human hourglass: Waiting, waiting, waiting for Brain Connelly to come home.
Oh yeah it does, most definitely it has an ocean, only it’s purple, and the sand is blue and the sky is hella green.
What is bad for the heart is good for art.
Male leads in love stories need to be devoted, need to chase trains, cross continents, give up fortunes and thrones, defy convention, face prosecution, take apart rooms and break the backs of angels, sketch the beloved all over the cement walls of their studios, build sculptures as homages. They don’t flirt shamelessly with the likes of me when they have Transylvanian girlfriends. What an effing jerk.
Now I contradict myself. Picasso he do too. He say pull out your brain, yes, he also say, ‘Painting is a blind man’s profession’ and ‘To draw you must close your eyes and sing’. And Michelangelo, he say he sculpts with his brains, not his eyes. Yes. Everything is true at once. Life is contradiction, we take in every lesson we find what works. Okay, now pick up the charcoal and draw.
I know from doing portraits that you have to look at someone a really long time to see what they’re covering up, to see their inside face, and when you do see it, and get it down, that’s the thing that makes people freak out about how much a drawing looks like them.
I can see sound, the dark green howling wind, the crimson crush of rain – all.
I wish the world would stick like a clock so I could look at him for as long as I want.
Noah and I made a deal. He’ll stop jumping off cliffs if I stop bible-thumping and suspend all medical research, effective immediately.
I am the author of my story and I can tell it any way I want.
Hummingbirds laze around him. Fruit falls out of trees right into his open palms... I’ve never felt this relaxed in my life. I keep forgetting my body and then have to go back and get it.
I don’t believe time heals. I don’t want it to. If I heal, doesn’t that mean I’ve accepted the world without her?
Everything’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” she says because she’s a people-mechanic and always knows when I’m malfunctioning.
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.
Hope or fear overcomes reason.
SELF PORTRAIT: Throwing Armfuls of Air into the Air.
I want to grab him by the wrist and head back into the woods, tell these guys, sorry but I found him first.