Maybe I'm sad about wanting you. I'm not too comfortable with wanting someone.

How satisfying it is to leave a mark on a blank surface. To make a map of my movement - no matter how temporary.

Her lips tarried at mine. Baiting each other with the warmth of our breath, barely grazing, detouring, then connecting.

For what matters if I gain the whole world, but lose my soul?

Something about being rejected at Church Camp felt so much more awful than being rejected at school.

Pressed against her I can hear eternity -- hollow, lonely spaces and currents that churn ceaselessly, and the fallen snow welcomes the falling snow with a whispered "Hush".

I was grateful for cereal --- the only food that my tummy, riddled by pangs of infatuation, could handle.