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

I felt like I was missing something. Missing you more. Missing whatever was going to happen next.

How do you commemorate a year? A paper anniversary, but we are the words written down, not the paper.

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

I always think of each night as a song. Or each moment as a song. But now I'm seeing we don't live in a single song. We move from song to song, from lyric to lyric, from chord to chord. There is no ending here. It's an infinite playlist.

With all due respect, if you’re forty-three, then I’m a fetus.

I hope that George doesn't internalize her scare tactics. I want to argue with her, tell her that "sins of the flesh" is just a control mechanism -- if you demonize a person's pleasure, then you can control his or her life. I can't say how many times this tool has been wielded against me, in a variety of forms. But I see no sin in a kiss. I only see sin in the condemnation.