All along, you've used the first sentence as a lock. But now you find that it's the key.
Five years behind me, but somehow with his shit together.
The way you argued with me, you would have thought that we were debating the existence of God or whether or not we should move in together. These kinds of fights can never be won – even if you're the victor, you've hurt the other person, and there has to be some loss associated with that.
I had made it somewhere special, and I'd gotten there all on my own. Nobody had given it to me. Nobody had told me to do it. I'd climbed and climbed and climbed, and this was my reward. To watch over the world, and to be alone with myself. That, I found, was what I needed.
There was a time before you but I can't remember it now a time before your beauty and I were formally introduced I'm sure I lived without you but I don't remember how can't imagine living without these feelings you've produced.
Eventually she fell asleep, but I kept the phone against my ear, lulled by her breathing, and her breathing again in the background. And yes, it felt like home. Like everything belonged exactly where it was.
Maybe there's just sexuality, and it's bendable and unpredictable, like a circus performer.
I wanted love to conquer all. But love can't conquer anything.
You never told me what you saw in him, not convincingly.
Even if neither of us got what we wanted, we found freedom in the third choices.
I love you-I do-but I am afraid of making that love too important. Because you're always going to leave me, A. We can't deny it. You're always going to leave.
One last song. One last turn. One last street. no matter how hard you try to keep hold of a day, it's going to leave you.
Silence equals death, we'd say. And underneath that would be the assumption—the fear—that death equaled silence.
But this is what losing most of your friends does: It makes you unafraid. Whatever anyone threatens, whatever anyone is offended by, it doesn't matter, because you have already survived much, much worse. In fact, you are still surviving. You survive every single, blessed.
I look for that confirmation that if I didn't have you, I'd still be a person someone would want.
You must ask yourself this: Will you decide when love's going to work and when it isn't? You have been pronouncing too much and feeling too little.
Even when I detach, I care. You can be separate from a thing and still care about it. If I wanted to detach completely, I would move my body away. I would stop the conversation midsentence. I would leave the bed. Instead, I hover over it for a second. I glance off in another direction. But I always glance back at you.
The good old days needed a lot of improvement. People aren't the only things that get better with age.
I don't believe in a small break. I feel a break is a break, and if it starts small, it only gets wider. So I said I wanted you to stay, even though nothing could stay the same.
But I loved the notion that the night was mine to spend, and I immediately decided to spend it on you.
There's a carafe of water on one of the trays, and that's all we need. We could have wine. We could have vodka. We could have Cherry Cokes. It would all be the same. We're drunk on candlelight, intoxicated by air. The food is our music. The walls are our warmth.