I am not a huge fan of the one-sided pining romances where the guy is a perfect love-object because we don’t see inside his head.
I was thinking lots of things, but most of them needed to stay thoughts, not words.
I’m so tired I never want to wake up again. But I’ve figured out now that it was never them that made me feel that way. It was just me, all along.
It wasn’t the sort of kiss I’d had with him before, hungry, wanting, desperate. It wasn’t the sort of kiss I’d had with anyone before. This kiss was so soft that it was like a memory of a kiss, so careful on my lips that it was like someone running his fingers along them.
My whole life, I had thought that my story was, again and again: Once upon a time, there was a boy, and he had to risk everything to keep what he loved. But really, the story was: Once upon a time, there was a boy, and his fear ate him alive.
Now, I was a fan of the simple pleasures in life: grilled cheese sandwiches without black flecks on the crust, jeans that didn’t pinch the better parts of me, an inch of vodka, ten to twelve hours of sleep. – Cole St Clair, Forever.
I am standing here in the shed, and I’m waiting to see if my seeds are going to poke out ofthe dirt. I don’t know if it’s too early to look for signs of life or if, this time, winter has claimed my family for good.
But love isn’t quantifiable on paper.
When the end comes, dark and hungry I’ll be alone, love When the end comes, black and starving I’ll say good-bye, love.-from Golden Tongue: The Poems of Steven Slaughter.
If the waitress comes, order me a coffee and something that involves bacon.
A frightening menagerie, my emotions are Too many and varied to number Like creatures they crawl and they fly above Tearing my body asunder.
Neatness makes me feel like I have to be on my best behavior. Clutter is my natural habitat.
This is about as comforting as a cold brick when you’re lonely.
If she and Sam ever had kids, they’d be gluten-intolerant out of self-defence.
It’s all you think about, all you talk about, and all you want us to talk about. What in the world would we call something like that? Oh, yeah! An obsession!
I don’t think I ever believed in love, not really. Just though it was something James Bond made up, a long time ago, to get laid.
Are there any other missing persons living under your roof? Elvis? Jimmy Hoffa? Amelia Earhart? I’d just like full disclosure now, before we go any further.
It matters, like this: I belong to Malvern, you don’t.
Gabe brings home a chicken and Tommy Falk for dinner. Truth be told, I’m not unhappy to see any of them. Gabe, because it’s been so long since we’ve had dinner with him; the chicken because it’s not beans; and Tommy Falk because his presence makes Gabe cheerful and goofy.
I might never ride Corr again. I don’t know who I am without him.