lying awake beside you, these thoughts run through my head.
I felt like I was missing something. Missing you more. Missing whatever was going to happen next.
What a horrible feeling that is, to know that if the disease [AIDS] had primarily affected PTA presidents, or priests, or white teenage girls, the epidemic would have been ended years earlier, and tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of lives would have been saved.
But if I didn’t want to be alone, then why didn’t I want to be with anyone else?
love is tied to truth. I think of them as unhappily conjoined twins.
How can you spend hours every day trying in small ways to figure out who you are, then have a near-stranger give you a sentence of yourself that says it better than you ever could?