I immediately suspected there was much more to it than was being said.

I had a sense then of how if we truly understood how many of the unimportant things we do will end up outliving us, we'd never be able to go on.

I was attempting to write the story of my life. It wasn't so much about plot. It was much more about character.

If you start the day reading the obituaries, you live your day a little differently.

I kiss her and she finds the light switch and turns it off, and we're just lit in Pepsi-can colors and it's like we've finally found this other kind of conversation, this conversation in gestures and pulls and pushes and breaths and grasps and teases and glimmers and rubs and expectation.

you ask me what I'm looking for, and I outline you. you don't recognize the shape, offer other names. you say my time will come, and I hope.

My face seems too square and my eyes too big, like I'm perpetually surprised, but there's nothing wrong with me that I can fix.