This is what happens when you fall in love. You're looking at a natural disaster.
The sound of her laughter was sticky as sap, the smell of night-blooming jasmine soft as a milk bath.
And if there is no god? You act as if there is, and it's the same thing.
Memory is the fourth dimension to any landscape.
Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.
Beauty was deceptive. I would rather wear my pain, my ugliness. I was torn and stitched. I was a strip mine, and they would just have to look. I hoped I made them sick. I hoped they saw me in their dreams.