I knew she was leaving. I knew we were never going to date long-distance. I knew that we wouldn't have been able to be like this back when were were dating, so there was no use in regretting what hadn...
I hope that global warming will go away. I hope that people won't be homeless. I hope that suffering will not exist. I want to believe that my hope is not in vain. I want to believe that even though I...
I haven't been able to reach her. And if I can't reach her, there's no way to keep her from being lost.
I guess I’m nervous to be meeting you, Lily said at long last, eyes still closed. Likewise, I assured her. I find I very rarely live up to my words. And since you know me primarily through my words, t...
I feel like I know her. Really know her. And part of really knowing her is also knowing that I don’t necessarily know her as well as I think I do. Which is okay. We should each have our own damn souls...
I don’t think we should ever try to meet again; there’s such freedom in that. Instead, let our words continue to meet. (See next postcard.)
I don't think it's a matter of ready-I mean, not in an all-the-way sense. You're never completely ready-you just get to the point where you're ready enough.
I already know the words. I just need to learn the beat. This tone-deaf white girl will try to make music out of recovery.
Hope and belief. I'd always wanted hope, but never believed that I could have such an adventure on my own. That I could own it. And love it. But it happened.
He sold the business but kept the corner block building,
Everyone on this island wants something kept quiet. I want to roar
Dumped doesn't even begin to describe it. If you're going to use a trash metaphor, incinerated is more like it.
Dash is getting very frisky in here with me, Mark. What I wanted to say was Dash raised an eyebrow at me again.No he's not, Mark said.How do you know?Because if he was, you wouldn't be calling me to...
Dash believed in magic. Dash loved Christmas. Dash loved me!
Cinderella! Dov cried. Let down your hair!
But the older you get, the more you realize that, yes, there are all these things that link you to the past, and you’re using the same words and singing the same songs that have always been there for...
But somehow, knowing the Moleskine was tucked away in my bag, containing our thoughts and clues, our imprints to each other, somehow that made me feel safe, like I could have this adventure and not ge...
But she's not, and I am left to wonder on my own: How does this work, the getting to know a new guy without revealing too much desperation for his undivided attention?
But she looks at me with this total incomprehension, like she’s watching footage of the world being blown up, and I’m the little blurb on the corner of the screen saying what the weather is like outsi...
But love needs to have a future. And Sofia and I don't have a future. We've just had a good time sharing the present, that's all.