We still kissed frequently, usually a cluster of small pecks. An acronym for our early deep kisses. Which in a way was more intimate because only we knew what it stood for.
This person has hoped and dreamed and now it is really happening and this person can hardly believe it. But believing is not an issue here, the time for faith and fantasy is over, it is really really...
Everyone knows that if you paint a human being entirely with house paint he will live, as long as you don't paint the bottom of his feet. It takes only a little thing like this to kill a person.
… it wasn’t pretend, I wasn’t in a fairytale or a fable. I shut my eyes and absorbed the silent whoomp that always accompanies this revelation. It’s the sound of the real world, gigantic and impossibl...
It was an act of devotion. A little like writing or loving someone — it doesn’t always feel worthwhile, but not giving up somehow creates unexpected meaning over time.
It was a real whale, a photograph of a real whale. I looked into its tiny wise eye and wondered where that eye was now. Was it alive and swimming, or had it died long ago, or was it dying now, right t...
I felt like I could do this forever, because nothing mattered more than anything else.
I didn’t say anything. He would have to step over my dead body to get off the phone.
She was standing on the moon and if I responded I would be on the moon too, right next to her.
I checked to see if he and I had a special connection that was greater than his bond with his mother. We didn’t.
For a split second I felt as though she was nobody special in the larger scheme of my life. She was just some girl who had tied me to her leg to help her sink when she jumped off the bridge. Then I bl...
The word God asks a question and then answers it before there is any chance to wonder.
I'm not saying I asked for it, only that there are moments when we are sending signals not just to the boys in the room but to all of creation.
I saw the darkness swirling inside him. I saw that his feet did not touch the ground when he played basketball at recess. In moments, he was flying. Not like a bird but subtly, like a person.
I had a joint once and I didn’t feel right for a whole year.
And our very few intimacies were simply discontinued. Where did they go, those things we did? Were they recycled?
Was everything redneck actually mystical?
That's the problem with men my age, I'm somehow older than them.
I wondered how many other things had flown past me into death. Perhaps many. Perhaps I was flying past them, like the grim reaper, signaling the end. This would explain so much.
I wanted her to know, from the moment she heard my voice, that I was dying. I delivered a salutation so craven, so wretched, that it fell through language like pebbles. Hello.