When we die, we will turn into songs, and we will hear each other and remember each other.
The times you lived through, the people you shared those times with – nothing brings it all to life like an old mix tape. It does a better job of storing up memories than actual brain tissue can do. Every mix tape tells a story. Put them together, and they can add up to the story of a life.
Our lives were just beginning, our favorite moment was right now, our favorite songs were unwritten.
There are all kinds of mix tapes. there is always a reason to make one.
I’d shut the whole world down just to tell you.
It’s always that one song that gets to you. You can hide, but the song comes to find you.
Tonight, I feel like my whole body is made out of memories. I’m a mix-tape, a cassette that’s been rewound so many times you can hear the fingerprints smudged on the tape.
I had no voice to talk with because she was my whole language. Without her to talk to, there was nothing to say.
What doesn’t kill you maims you, cripples you, leaves you weak, makes you whiny and full of yourself at the same time. The more pain, the more pompous you get. Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you incredibly annoying.
You lose a certain type of innocence when you experience this type of kindness. You lose your right to be a jaded cynic. You can no longer go back through the looking glass and pretend not to know what you know about kindness.
You have blundered into an adult existence you don’t understand, and you can’t tell whether you planned it this way or whether you screwed up big-time, though it’s too late either way.
I was a wallflower who planned to stay that way, who never imagined anybody else to be.