It’s as if someone vacuumed up the horizon while we were looking the other way.
I didn’t know love felt like this, like turning into brightness.
I can’t shove the dark out of my way.
Let me just unsubscribe to my own mind already, because I don’t get any of it.
Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
At least, the sun had the decency to stay the hell away from us.
If bad luck knows who you are, become someone else.
I’ve no use for talking, would just as soon store paper clips in my mouth.
The first thing I notice is the sky, so full of blue and the kind of brilliant white clouds that make you ecstatic to have eyes. Nothing can go wrong under this sky...
When I’m with him, there is someone with me in my house of grief, someone who knows its architecture as I do, who can walk with me, from room to sorrowful room, making the whole rambling structure of wind and emptiness not quite as scary, as lonely as it was before.
I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes when the grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe.
I have an impulse to write all over the orange walls- I need an alphabet of endings ripped out of books, of hands pulled off of clocks, of cold stones, of shoes filled with nothing but wind.
How could a mother who boils water for pasta leave two little girls behind?
She’s a sun-kissed beach girl who goes goth grunge punk hippie rocker emo core metal freak fashionista brain geek boy crazy hip hop rasta girl to keep it under wraps.
Reality is crushing. The world is a wrong-sized shoe. How can anyone stand it?
Sometimes you think you know things, know things very deeply, only to realize you don’t know a damn thing.
Grief and love are conjoined, you don’t get one without the other. All I can do is love her, and love the world, emulate her by living with daring and spirit and joy.
Dreams change, yes, that makes sense, but I didn’t know dreams could hide inside a person.
It’s never occurred to me that the stars are still up there shining even in the daytime when we can’t see them.
No hot guys should be allowed to have an English accent and drive a motorcycle. Not to mention wear the leather jacket or sport the cool shades. Hot guys should be forced into footie pajamas.