She gives off light, I give off dark.
When twins are seperated, their spirits steal away to find the other.
Mothers are the parachutes.
But then sometimes you make a catastrophic mistake, you think I am going to kill myself because the sculpture is ruined, but in the end it come out more incredible than had you not made the mistake. This is why I love the rocks. When I sculpt with clay, it feel like cheating. It is too easy. It has no will of its own. The rocks are formidable. They stand up to you. It is a fair fight. Sometimes you win. Sometimes they win. Sometimes when they win, you win.
Where the hell is Ralph?
Her face slides off her face – no one can keep their faces on today – and the one underneath is desperate.
I think about how Mom told Noah it was his responsibility to be true to his heart. Neither of us has been. Why is it so hard? Why is it so hard to know what that truth is?
How can I be mad at her for finding her split-apart and wanting to be with him? As Guillermo said, the heart doesn’t listen to reason. It doesn’t abide by laws or conventions or other people’s expectations either.
Hot guys should be forced into footie pajamas.
Isn’t that what I always think when I get The Poor Motherless Girl Look? Like I’ve been shoved out of the airplane without a parachute because mothers are the parachutes.
He had a mad desire to draw, to kiss the boy next door,, to peel the blue off the sky, to be the blue in the sky.
She’s like his spirit animal, a gentle, odd, spritely being who I’m pretty sure has a storage space full of fairy dust.
He’s looking at me in that way of his that should be illegal or patented, and it’s affecting my ability to remember things like my name and species and all the reasons a girl might go on a boy strike.
What makes you say the opposite of what every cell in your body wants you to say?
Really, most of the time, I feel like a hostage.
I tell you not to be timid. I tell you to make the choices, make the mistakes, big, terrible, reckless mistakes, really screw it all up. I tell you it is the only way.
I think the heart of every living thing on earth is beating in my body.
I turn around, remembering again that we got made together, cell for cell. We were keeping each other company when we didn’t have any eyes or hands. Before our soul even got delivered.
Me would like an invisibility cloak to get the hell out of this mess.
It’s not as easy for her to tell what’s in mine, though, because I have shutters and I close them whenever I have to. Like lately.