Why are you leaving me? He wrote, I do not know how to live. I do not know either but I am trying. I do not know how to try. There were some things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him. So i buried them and let them hurt me

I did not need to know if he could love me. I needed to know if he could need me.

Sadness of love without release.

I shook my tambourine the whole time, because it helped me remember that even though I was going through different neighborhoods, I was still me.

Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone ever make love?

It’s much easier to be cruel than one might think.

Time was passing like a hand waving from a train that I wanted to be on.