Es esa es la cosa sobre el dolor. Demanda ser sentido.
I segni che gli umani lasciano troppo spesso sono cicatrici.
Felt myself slipping, but even that’s a metaphor. Descending, but that is, too. Can’t describe the feeling itself except to say that I’m not me. Forged in the smithy of someone else’s soul. Please just let me out. Whoever is authoring me, let me up out of this. Anything to be out of this. But I couldn’t get out. Three flakes, then four arrive. Then many more.
I could not hear the words, but I could hear the worry.
Credo che a questo mondo si possa sempre scegliere come raccontare le storie tristi, e noi abbiamo optato per la versione divertente.
I like that book,” Alaska said. “Yes.” The Colonel smiled and leaned over to look at her from his top bunk. “You would. Big white whale is a metaphor for everything. You live for pretentious metaphors.
In my memory, it doesn’t end. We just stay there, looking at each other, forever.
The oldest pictures were faded and yellowing, and Colin thought about how even in pictures of their youth, old people look old.
Prezentul tau nu e vesnic.
Prick us we bleed, prick him he pops.
There is all this time between when the cracks start to open up and when we finally fall apart.
I smoke to die.
It sucked having a dead person in your family and I knew what he meant about seeking solace in the old light... because you can’t let the light catch up with the present. Otherwise you’d forget.
It’s different being invisible with someone.
I thought about how we all believed ourselves to be the hero of some personal epic, when in fact we were basically identical organisms colonizing a vast and windowless room.
If you have had a hard time then pain will demand to be felt.
I went to the bathroom when I got home and examined the cut. The swelling seemed down. Maybe. Maybe the light in the bathroom just wasn’t strong enough for me to see clearly. I cleaned it with soap and water, patted it dry, applied hand sanitizer, and then rebandaged my finger.
I stopped at a stop sign at the end of the street, and Margo said, “What the hell? Go go go go go,” and I said, “Oh, right,” because I had forgotten that I was throwing caution to the wind and everything.
I don’t know where there is, but I know it’s somewhere, and I hope it’s beautiful.
It is so hard to leave – until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world. As I ran, I felt myself for the first time.