I almost have no nails left by the time his bubble pops up, but that’s cool because everyone has fingernails, and I like to be different.
People rely on you. You can’t just go down a different path and not warn anyone.
I was selfish that way, wanting people to bend and give me the love I needed, not necessarily the love they knew how to give.
That’s easy to say until the person you love is happy with someone else. Girls always choose men, and men always choose the wrong girls. It’s an endless cycle.
He promised you a lot and he promised it to someone who needed it to be true. There was a disconnect in your relationship – I don’t know where it stems from or why, but he did know that for once in your life you needed to not be let down. He wasn’t selfless enough to do that.” Oh.
If what she is saying is true, then the rest of the world is numb, and we who suffer from ailments of the psyche are the ones who are more advanced in nature. We see the decaying of society, the neglect of morals and human decency: the school shootings, the crimes humans commit against one another, the crimes we commit against ourselves; and we react to them in a way that is more intense than everyone else. Yes, I think. Yes, this is the truth.
Without the risk of getting hurt, there is no probability of falling in love,” I tell her. “Vulnerability and love go hand in hand.
It’s emotionally lazy to know you’re hurting someone and try to forget the fact because it makes you uncomfortable. Marriage as a whole is uncomfortable. Two people from two different worlds trying to stuff all of their emotional belongings into one joined life.
Words are a powerful weapon and they never die.
Atheists who kneel and pray, the voice sings. Begging for just anything. Non-believers bitten down to the core. Pass them a word, give them a string. When you’re dying you cling. Yara, Yara, the god of disbelief. I worship between your legs. Pray to your fallacy, pray to your winter. You kill everything.
Love is not part of something else. It’s the only thing.
I had a hand fetish. His hands were big, probably beneficial for that stupid sport he played. His were the kind of hands that made wedding rings look sexy – tan with vein lines that ran like snaking rivers to his wrist and disappeared under his sleeves.
Voices have been, and always will be, too afraid to speak with as much volume as a book. That’s why writers write – to say things loudly with ink. To give feet to thoughts; to make quiet, still feelings loudly heard.
I was quiet about the things I saw, but I saw.
Guard your heart, so it doesn’t get broken like mine, my mother used to say as often as twice a week.
Neptune looked at a tree I did last week and made a weird sound in the back of his throat. I’m no grunting expert, but it sounded like impressed approval to me. I’ve imitated that sound twice since then – once at a restaurant with Neil who asked me if I had something lodged in my throat, and once on the phone with my mother who wanted to bring me soup for the cold I was coming down with. Some people aren’t good with expressive communication. It’s not their fault.
You are the woman I know how to love. The only woman I want to love.
I was diarrhea and she was merely a bad case of indigestion.
It’s not often you get something for free in this life.
Of course I want to, but I would look like a bad person if I didn’t object at all.