Her underwear, her jeans, the comforter, my corduroys and my boxers between us, I thought. Five layers, and yet I felt it, the nervous warmth of touching – a pale reflection of the fireworks of one mouth on another, but a reflection nonetheless. And in the almostness of the moment, I cared at least enough. I wasn’t sure whether I liked her, and doubted whether I could trust her, but I cared at least enough to try to find out. Her on my bed, wide green eyes staring down at me. The enduring mystery of her sly, almost smirking, smile. Five layers between us.

I do not say goodbye. I believe that's one of the bullshitiest words ever invented. It's not like you're given the choice to say bad-bye, or awful-bye, or couldn't-care-less-about-you-bye. Everytime you leave, it's supposed to be a good one.

I leaned in toward her, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that we must kiss.

The important thing is not whatever nonsense the voices are saying, but what the voices are feeling.

I didn't even know what the feeling was, really, just that there was a lot of it.

Stupid truth, always resisting simplicity

You know, like when you look in the mirror and the thing you see is not the thing as it really is.