Life tells you to take the elevator, but love tells you to take the stairs.

Moments into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into days. Days into years. Years into possibility. This will linger.

me: why is it upset? shouldn't it be downset? gideon: i will file a lawsuit against the dictionaries first thing tomorrow morning. we're going to tear merriam a new asshole and throw webster inside of it.

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.

I had gotten so used to being alone, but never entirely used to it. Never used to it enough to stop wanting the alternative.

I can't pretend to know what love is. It just is.

Someday your prince will come," I assure him. "And the first thing I'm going to say to him is, 'What took you so long?