I didn’t need you, you idiot. I picked you. And then you picked me back.

Here's to all the places we went. And all the places we'll go. And here's to me, whispering again and again and again and again: iloveyou

What is the point of being alive if you don't at least try to do something remarkable?

That deep, can-still-taste-her-in-my-mouth sleep.

I was born into Bolívar's labyrinth, and so I must believe in the hope of Rabelais' Great Perhaps.

And in my classes, I will talk most of the time, and you will listen most of the time. Because you may be smart, but I've been smart longer.

We can hear others, and we can travel with them without moving, and we can imagine them, and we are all connected one to the other by a crazy root system, like so many leaves of grass. But the game makes me wonder wheter we can really ever fully become another.