Love weaves itself from hundreds of threads.
There is the sudden. There is the eventual. And in between, there is the living.
We are so used to releasing words. We don't know what to do with them if they stay.
He never wears a watch (his own rebellion against time, against watching).
this is why we call people exes, I guess - because the paths that cross in the middle end up separating at the end. it's too easy to see an X as a cross-out. it's not, because there's no way to cross out something like that. the X is a diagram of two paths.
Maybe there's a way to keep us in this moment. Not the sad part. But the coming together part.