I have so much of you in my heart.
Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell.
April is the cruelest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
memory and desire, stirring
dull roots with spring rain.
Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on.
I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.
It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it’s so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn’t come back. You’re left so alone that you can’t explain. Damn, there’s nothing like that, is there? I’ve been there and you have too. You’re nodding your head.
If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.
Everything in his life had come down to the sensation of her fingers against his. The person he was, the history he carried within himself, every joy and grief he had ever experienced, slipped way like an irrelevant garment. He was nothing but skin, speaking to another skin, and between the skins there was no need to find any words.
There was actually nothing beautiful or poetic about it.
You shattered my fucking heart.
You’re scared of the way I make you feel because you don’t want to feel anything.
And now you are and I am and we’re a mystery which will never happen again.
Nobody likes being alone that much. I don’t go out of my way to make friends, that’s all. It just leads to disappointment.
No matter how careful you are, there’s going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn’t experience it all. There’s that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should’ve been paying attention. Well, get used to that feeling. That’s how your whole life will feel some day. This is all practice.
She lies about how she’s feeling, how she’s hurting, how she wants you when she tells you she doesn’t. She lies to protect you and herself.
I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes.