You look beautiful even when you cry. I mean, not that you don’t look beautiful when you’re happy. Of course, you’re beautiful all the time. But out there in the snow, you were stunning.
I also have a list of favorite noises. It has one item on it: Kit’s laugh.
So strange that David Drucker of all people was the only one who said the exact right thing: Your dad shouldn’t have died. That’s really unfair.
Right. So what don’t get is why everyone is mad at me, instead of realising that I am the one who has been wronged here. Not a single person has come up to me and said,”I’m really sorry this happened to you.” Not one person.
There’s nothing lonelier than a hand on glass. Maybe because it’s so rarely reciprocated.
Tears are kind of like urine. There’s only so long you can hold them in.
I realize we all walk around pretending we have some control over our fate, because to recognize the truth–that no matter what we do, the bottom will fall out when we least expect it–is just too unbearable to live with.
Tears are kind of like urine. There is only so long you can hold them in.
I mean , I never even had to really come out to my parents. They always knew, and it was always okay. Or not even okay, better than that. Not something that had to be evaluated at all. It just was. Like having brown hair.
And now that I’ve been exposed to this feeling, perfect mouth against perfect mouth, the natural order of things, I wonder why people don’t kiss all day, every day. How does anything ever get done?