That's the question, isn't it?" you said one night. "Does death bring freedom, or is it the end of freedom?

The boy I loved didn't know I existed. Then again, he was obsessed with Camus, so he didn't know if any of us existed.

I love you-I do-but I am afraid of making that love too important. Because you're always going to leave me, A. We can't deny it. You're always going to leave.

Belonging. Togetherness. These words are as complicated and confusing as the word love. It’s probably all the same thing. Or it would be if we let it be. I can only guess from observation.

It is an awful thing to be betrayed by your body. And it’s lonely, because you feel you can’t talk about it.

In my experience, desire is desire, love is love.

There are times when I worry that I've already lost myself. That is, that my self is so inseparable from being with you that if we were to separate, I would no longer be. I save this thought for when I feel the darkest discontent. I never meant to depend so much on someone else.