How do you know? I mean, if I was making you up, and I didn't want you to know you were made up, I just wouldn't tell you, right?
He made the boxes because he was lonely. He didn't have anyone to love, and he made the boxes so he could love them, and so people would know that he existed, and because birds are free and the boxes...
We were royally miserable together.
It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.
I'm bored with knitting. I've taken up arson.
Even her name seemed empty, as though it had detached itself from her and was floating untethered in his mind. How am I supposed to live without you? It was not a matter of the body; his body would ca...
Is it sad to fancy David Tennant when you’re dead? Elspeth
I feel like a pink worm in the core of this green room, as though I have eaten my way in and should be working on becoming a butterfly, or something. I’m not real awake, here, at the moment. I hear so...
Dream are different than real life but important too.
Being in love is…anxious, he said. Wanting to please, worrying that she will see me as I really am. But wanting to be known. That is…you’re naked, moaning in the dark, no dignity at all…I wanted her t...
I want to tell you again, I love you. Our love has been the thread through the labyrinth, the net under the high-wire walker, the only real thing in this life of mine that I could ever trust. Tonight...
Every angel is terrifying
Now you're making me self-conscious. I feel like every time I blow my nose it's a historic event.Well, it is.She rolls her eyes. What's the opposite of determinism? Chaos.Oh. I don't think I like that...
Long ago, men went to sea, and women waited for them, standing on the edge of the water, scanning the horizon for the tiny ship. Now I wait for Henry. He vanishes unwillingly, without warning. I wait...
It's hard being left behind. I wait for Henry, not knowing where he is, wondering if he's okay. It's hard to be the one who stays behind.
I sit quietly and think about my mom. It's funny how memory erodes, If all I had to work from were my childhood memories, my knowledge of my mother would be faded and soft, with a few sharp memories s...
I now have an erection that is probably tall enough to ride some of the scarier rides at Great America without a parent.
I make books because I love them as objects; because I want to put the pictures and the words together, because I want to tell a story.
I am so tired. Even the word sleep is a lure, a seduction.
Each spine was an encapsulated memory, each book represented hours, days of pleasure, of immersion into words.