tell me the story
about how the sun
loved the moon so much
he died every night
to let her breathe
"Do you ever feel that way?”
“Restless. As if you haven’t really met yourself yet. As is you’d passed yourself once in the fog, and your heart leapt - ‘Ah! There I Am! I’ve been missing that piece!’ But it happens too fast, and then that part of you disappears into the fog again. And you spend the rest of your days looking for it."
"Growing apart doesn’t change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I’m glad for that."
"I saw that you were perfect and so I loved you. Then I saw that you were not perfect and I loved you even more."
You’ve learned by now
to wait without waiting;
as if it were dusk
look into light falling:
in deep relief
things even out. Be
careless of nothing. See
what you see.
"7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia."
"I think we all speak a different kind of language
than each other, but you sound a whole lot like coffee on a
Sunday morning and the rain is falling bitter against the windowpane
and your elbows are making holes in the countertops, and
I only want to tell you that I wish I was as close as the threads of your
t-shirt, and if I can’t be that, then I’ll be content with
drinking my drink beside you, with the rain sloppy open mouth kissing
the roof, trying to dismantle the etymology of a conversation
that falls out of the realm of words."
"Nobody loves anybody like anybody wants to be loved."
"I want to go places and see people. I want my mind to grow. I want to live where things happen on a big scale."
"Intimacy is the art of licking wounds. And it’s taken me years to let anyone kiss me when my lips were chapped."