Once a year, she remembers that she is insignificant. Then she forgets agains, because more than she is insignificant, she is forgetful.

I will not wait to love as best as I can. We thought we were young and that there would be time to love well sometime in the future. This is a terrible way to think. It is no way to live, to wait to love.

I still get my news from the newspaper in the morning. I just have an affection for paper, and that's no secret, I guess.

She felt some measure of relief knowing that in the very least, on the open road she would have some time to think.

But everyone disappears, no matter who loves them.

But what I really want is to just swim around in a warm baby pool of these friends, jump in their dry leaf pile-to rub them all over myself, without words and clothes.

You know how you finish a bag of chips and you hate yourself? You know you’ve done nothing good for yourself. That’s the same feeling, and you know it is, after some digital binge. You feel wasted and hollow and diminished.