I was starting to think I was making up memories, just to have answers. Our brain does that sometimes. Or at least mine does.

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.

After tiny has tried ballerina pose, swing-batter-batter pose, pump-up-the-jam pose, and top-of-the-mountain-sound-of-music pose in the reflection of the bean, he walks us to a bench overlooking lake shore drive.

aloof, adj. It has always been my habit, ever since junior high school, to ask that question: “What are you thinking?” It is always an act of desperation, and I keep on asking, even though I know it will never work the way I want it to.

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

i wish i were someone else, even though i know i'll never, ever be able to get away from what i've done and what's been done to me.

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.