Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.

He doesn't have to say it, i feel it too; it's not subtle - like every bell for miles and miles is ringing at once, loud and clanging, hungry ones and tiny, happy, chiming ones, all of them sounding off in this moment. I put my hands around his neck, pull him to me, and then he's kissing me hard and so deep, and i am flying, sailing, soaring.

We wish with our hands, that's what we do as artists.

Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.

This is our story to tell. You’d think for all the reading I do, I would have thought about this before, but I haven’t. I’ve never once thought about the interpretative, the story telling aspect of life, of my life. I always felt like I was in a story, yes, but not like I was the author of it, or like I had any say in its telling whatsoever.

I suddenly feel left out of a future that isn't even going to happen.

And why do English people sound smarter than the rest of us? Like they should be awarded the Nobel Prize for a simple greeting?