I kiss her and she finds the light switch and turns it off, and we're just lit in Pepsi-can colors and it's like we've finally found this other kind of conversation, this conversation in gestures and pulls and pushes and breaths and grasps and teases and glimmers and rubs and expectation.

That's what the voices in your head are for, to get you through the silent parts.

I still don’t know if this is a good quality or a bad one, to be able to be in the moment and then step out of it.

And who am I to blow against the wind?

this might be the happy ending without the ending

We pencil-sketch our previous life so we can contrast it to the technicolor of the moment.

I cannot think of a single word to describe what we feel. I think we all feel it, to varying degrees. Perhaps in some other language there is a word for 'the world is terribly wrong.' That feeling of stun and unbelief and abandonment and shock and horror and distress.