You must find a boy your own age. Someone mild and beautiful to be your lover. Someone who will tremble for your touch, offer you a marguerite by its long stem with his eyes lowered. Someone whose fingers are a poem.

How many people ask you to come share their life?

she was such a bad actress. she never said her lines rite, it was something perverse in her nature. and wat was her line anyway?

I felt like an undeveloped photograph that he was printing, my image rising to the surface under his gaze.

We don't have a unitary society anymore, you know; it's very fragmented. I look up and down my block in Silverlake and there is a different universe in every house.

It's not that he was going nowhere, it's that he'd already arrived.

You must find a boy your own age. Someone mild and beautiful to be your lover. Someone who will tremble for your touch, offer you a marguerite by its long stem with his eyes lowered. Someone whose fingers are a poem.