I am a mess. Like that MargieMocha, I am spilled across a floor, but there's nobody to mop me up. I have only one thing to show for the day: Perry Delloplane. The sound of a name. It is a grape in my mouth. I roll it over and over on my tongue--perrydelloplaneperrydelloplaneperrydelloplaneperrydelloplane--but when I try to crush it with my teeth, it slips away.

You are truly focused when you're so focused that you don't know you're focused.

A baseball bat could not have hit me harder than that smile did. I was sixteen years old. In that time, how many thousands of smiles had been aimed at me? so why did this one feel like the first?

Letter from Mr. B: Why does a back scratch feel better coming from somebody else than if you do it yourself?

It was different with you, Leo. In the eyes and ears of my heart, you and the magic are one and the same.

I’ll still be missing you as much as ever. I’l still smile at the memory of you. I’ll still be - Okay, I’ll say it again - loving you, but I won’t abandon myseld for you. I cannot be faithful to you without being faithful to myself.

I’m not my name. My name is something I wear, like a shirt. It gets worn. I outgrow it, I change it.