Even if you were green and had a beard and a male appendage between your legs. Even if your eyebrows were orange and you had a mole covering your entire cheek and a nose that poked me in the eye every time I kissed you. Even if you weighed seven hundred pounds and had hair the size of a Doberman under your arms. Even then, I would love you.

I have become very good at clearing histories.

She is my first and only love. Most people know that their first love will not be their only love. But for me, she is both.

But death is not freedom. For a moment, it can look like freedom. But then it's death. Anything. Something. Nothing.

being with someone for over a year can mean that you love them … but it can also mean you’re trapped.

You make it a production. Slam doors. Knock things over. Scream. But I just leave. Even if I'm still standing there, I leave. I am refusing you. I am denying you. I am an adjective that is quickly turning into a noun.

If you want to be loved, be a lovable. It's a good place to start.