So what do you have to confess now?" I don't know why I'm saying any of this, except that is the truth. "I'm confessing that I don't know if I'm ready for this." "What is 'this'?" "Being open. Being hurt. Liking. Not being liked. Seeing the flicker on. Seeing the flicker off. Leaping. Falling. Crashing.

After working for so long on being sure of each other, sure of this thing, suddenly we were unsure again.

It's the secret smile you get from knowing that, somewhere, there is someone who is yours. Not in the sense that you own her or control her. She is yours because you can say anything to her, whenever you need to. And she can do the same, whenever she needs to.

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

There are few things harder than being born into the wrong body.

This is what a memorial is: standing still, staring at something that isn’t ther

this blue shirt i have is practically the same color as my jeans, and looking all-blue is something only cookie monster can pull off.