It takes certain kind of naiveté, or perhaps just stupidity, to know things will end and still hope otherwise.

One day she told me that they'd decided that my gender was divvied into two neat piles-Men and Guys. Basically, all the saints of the world: Men. The jerks, the players, the wet T-shirt contest aficionados? They were Guys.

I'll let you go. If you stay.

I know what I did to you was so wrong, but at the time it also felt so necessary to my survival. I don't know if those two things can both be true, but that's how it was.

The truth and its opposite are flip sides of the same coin.

Anything that kills hope is a sin

She's still beautiful. Not in an obvious Vanessa LeGrande or Byrn Shraeder kind of way. In a quiet way that's always been devastating to me.