I preferred to hang out with the dead, dying, or desperate books - used we call them, in a way that we'd never call a person, unless we meant it cruelly

I am always amazed by people who know something is wrong but still insist on ignoring it, as if that will somehow make it go away. They spare themselves the confrontation, but end up boiling in resentment anyway.

tiny: did someone die? me: yeah, i did. he smiles again at that. tiny: well, then... welcome to the afterlife.

It feels like I am wasting time. I mean, that's always the case. My life doesn't add up to anything.

And just like that, the universe goes wrong. Just like that, all the enormity seems to shrink into a ball and float away from my reach. I feel it, and she doesn't. Or I feel it, and she won't.

And I'm moved, it's so beautiful. Not what I wrote, but to have it given back like this. To have her remember the words and the tune. To hear it in her voice.

Told her she was beautiful. Didn't give up when she didn't believe me.