All sorts of yayness floods my brain. Love is such a drug.
I want to keep saying hello. Because it all feels like hello.
Did it matter that we both drank coffee at night and both happened to go to Barcelona the summer after our senior year? In the long view, was it such a revelation that we were both ticklish and that we both liked dogs more than cats? Really, weren’t these facts just placeholders until the long view could truly assert itself? We were painting by numbers, starting with the greens. Because that happened to be our favorite color. And this, we figured, had to mean something.
There was never that big a disturbance,
confrontation, n.: You turn away from the truth when asked to face it, while I stare at it too long, until it becomes a blur.
Answerless questions can destroy you. Move on.
I am not sure I have the strength to resist this.
It’s the secret smile you get from knowing that,somewhere,there is someone who is yours. Not in the sense that you own her or control her. She is yours because you say anything to her,whenever you need to. And she can do the same,whenever she needs to. Most of the time this is not necessary. But the secret smile comes from knowing it’s available,even when she’s half a world away.
For whatever reason, we like to focus on the 2 percent that’s different, an most of the conflict in the world comes from that.
We are retracing the lines and windows that are no longer there. We are rebuilding from our memory, trying to do with our eyes open what we usually do with our eyes closed.