Well, I’ve been corresponding with a complete stranger in a notebook, telling him my innermost feelings and thoughts and then blindly going to mystery places where he dares me to go….
Well what's in your Amazonian hope chest?
We met in the park to wrest the afternoon into the shape of a stroll.
This must be part of Mother Nature's master plan—making these boys so irresistibly cute, in such a naughty way, that the purity of their intentions becomes irrelevant.
Things that matter are not easy. Feelings of happiness are easy. Happiness is not. Flirting is easy. Love is not. Saying you’re friends is easy. Being friends is not.
The whole thing was silly, I said. Please tell her there’s no need to apologize. We set ourselves up for this. I was never going to be the guy in her head. And she was never going to be the girl in mi...
The pill’s bittersweet chaser is not that they can’t love you back the same way. It’s that they won’t. They won’t open their minds to the possibility. They won’t expand their expectations of romantic...
The handwriting was a girl’s. I mean, you can tell. That enchanted cursive.
The doorman code of conduct? I ask Gabriel. What did I do wrong this time? Or is Gabriel one of those Madonna/whore guys who can’t deal with a girl who makes the first move? No, the gentleman’s code of...
The complexity embedded in the different levels of meaning that go along with the words I love you ought to be a whole mindfuck of a video game
That’s what I like about sports. No matter if everyone playing the game speaks completely different languages, on the field, or the court, wherever they are playing, the language of moves and passes a...
That’s funny. I’ve always liked Naomi’s version of me the best. I’m always much more interesting when she talks about me.
That's because you're interpreting it the wrong way. I didn't mean it as a wistful, overdramatic declaration. I mean that the love I felt for him was huge and real, and, while painful, it forever chan...
Somebody how wouldn't judge another for prepositions they dangle, or their run-on sentences, and who in turn wouldn't be judged for the snobbery of their language etymology inclinations.
Sofia smiled at me. You think fairy tales are only for girls? Here’s a hint—ask yourself who wrote them. I assure you, it wasn’t just the women. It’s the great male fantasy—all it takes is one dance t...
Snarl had infiltrated my subconscious. The dream was obviously a sign: he was too enticing to resist.
Of course you want to get to know her. But at the same time, you want to feel like you already know her. That you will know her instantly. Such a fairy tale.
My pinky finger crept over and nestled against his, for comfort. Like a magnet, his pinky finger latched onto and intertwined with mine. I like magnets a whole lot.
My heart literally aches, that shit is not made up; it hurts for an unexpected, brief time warp of suddenly wanting and longing and believing, but then not having.
Many years ago, he owned a neighborhood family grocery store on Avenue A in the East Village.