What’s a dementor?”I mean, I can’t even. “Nora, you are no longer my sister.””So it’s some Harry Potter thing,” she says.
It’s more that I want to leap in and say certain things and do certain things, but I always seem to hold myself back. I think a big part of me is afraid.
We are out and we are alive, and everyone in the universe is out here right now.
I have a sneaking suspicion that you’re not 100% committed to your Oreo diet.
They put me in a box, and every time I try to nudge the lid open, they slam it back down. It’s like nothing about me is allowed to change.
He tells me to pick the music. I’m not sure if he knows that handing me his iPod is like handing me the window to his soul.
But I’m tired of coming out. All I ever do is come out. I try not to change,but I keep changing, in all these tiny ways ….. And every freaking time, I have to reintroduce myself to the universe all over again.
I don’t know. There’s just something kind of mortifying to me about the intensity of those feelings. I remember them so clearly.
Why would I want to watch other people kissing,” I say, “when I could be kissing you?
I guess what I mean is that sometimes it seems like everyone knows who I am except me.
I can’t seem to shake this perpetual awareness of being Molly.
I was basically born knowing how to casually stalk people on social media.
I feel like I’m supposed to make some comment to underscore the ridiculousness of it all, but honestly? It’s sort of nice not to have to be cynical for a change. I guess it feels like I’m a part of something.
It’s stillness and pressure and rhythm and breathing.