I don't want to fall. All I want to do is stand on solid ground.

I want my own books to have their own shelves," you said, and that's how I knew it would be okay to live together.

love is tied to truth. I think of them as unhappily conjoined twins.

I was sixteen and equipped with the appropriate genitalia, so I cleared that hurdle nicely.

When he talked to you, you seemed to fit in, but when someone else was talking, or he would be distracted, you jsut looked lonely over there. At least to me. But whenever I would tell you that, you'd say "I'm fine. I just slip out of it, you know?" And I'd say "I'll catch you," and you would say, "It's not the kind of slipping you can catch.

There is no word for the recipient of the love. There is only a word for the giver. There is the assumption that lovers come in pairs.

You never get involved in the people's lives? The ones you're inhabiting?" I shake my head. "You try to leave the lives the way you found them." "Yeah." "But what about Justin? What made that so different?" "You," I say.