When she came back inside, she was gripping a yogurt cup someone had thrown near our side strip of garden. Plastic doesn’t cycle. She shrugged off her coat. Right? We recycle it, but it can’t do anyth...
When she left the store, emboldened, receipt tucked into her purse, folded twice, Janet thought of all the chicken dishes she had not sent back even though they were either half-raw or not what she ha...
When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us.
When we sleep together, he holds me like he loves me. I've noticed this: when it's the first date, and you fuck, the guy holds you much better than he does the next few times. The first date, you're s...
While she cut the mushrooms, she cried more than she had at the grave, the most so far, because she found the saddest thing of all to be the simple truth of her capacity to move on.
With hand gestures, you can fill in a lot of gaps, and the words thing and stuff and -ness also help: patientness instead of patience, fastness instead of speed, honestness instead of honesty. With th...
With my hand in his, I looked at all the apartment buildings with rushes of love, peering in the wide streetside windows that revealed living rooms painted in dark burgandies and matte reds.
YOU'RE IN MY MOUTH, I said. GET OUT OF MY MOUTH.
You can ruin anything if you focus at it.
You can't predict the outcome. You can't raise a child and then tell them what to think.
You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.
Your eyes shine, he said. How do they do that?Blood, she said.
[...]when he closed his eyes, the torrent of longing waiting inside was so thick he thought he might drown in it.
But the rest of the evening is nothing but the trembling edges of something I am so tired of feeling and I do not want to feel anymore.
…kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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