The girl is dressed in a flannel shirt, and I can’t tell whether that’s because she’s trying to bring back the only fashion style of the past fifty years that hasn’t been brought back or whether it’s because the shirt is as damn comfortable as it looks.
How can you not be concerned that I might have cancer?” I ask. “I found a lump on my breast.” Touch it, Ely. Touch it. “Lie. Not only are you biting your lip, which you always do when you lie, but your mom told me about the alleged lump in the elevator this morning. The doctor said it was an overgrown pimple.” Monkeys!
Children frighten me. I mean, I appreciate them on a cute aesthetic level, but they’re very demanding and unreasonable creatures and often smell funny.
We met in the park to wrest the afternoon into the shape of a stroll.
She smells like marijuana smoke. It’s not a bad smell. Just a sad one.
I wanted to go home to the safety of my bed and to my stuffed animals and to my people I’d known my whole life. I had nothing to say to anybody, and fervently prayed that no one there would have anything to say to me.
Snarl had infiltrated my subconscious. The dream was obviously a sign: he was too enticing to resist.
I don’t think it’s a matter of ready-I mean, not in an all-the-way sense. You’re never completely ready-you just get to the point where you’re ready enough.
It’s a paradox, isn’t it? The people you know the most, the people you love the most-you’re also going to feel the parts of them you don’t know the most.
I volunteer to be the comfort of the in-between.
There’s no way for me to know she’ll find me here. I didn’t call. I didn’t text. I left it up to old connection, that old friendship sense.
Nick is right, the Olsen twins do have a worrisome co-dependent relationship. I understand those bitches, though, I really do.
It’s like nothing else exists in the world right now except him, me, touching, exploring, longing, needing, sharing, having. So much for my straight-edge vow, because I am drunk on our ing’s.
It was a red Moleskine – made of neither mole nor skin, but nonetheless the preferred journal of my associates who felt the need to journal in non-electronic form.
Just because a person is beautiful doesn’t mean there’s no soul beneath. Doesn.
At last I had it – the Christmas present I’d wanted all along, but hadn’t realized. His words.
We were people, and people had ways of finding each other.
It’s always the ones who believe who are hurt the most when things go wrong. She.
I love you for answering the call of a red notebook once upon a time.
But love needs to have a future. And Sofia and I don’t have a future. We’ve just had a good time sharing the present, that’s all.