...and we sat like that, one creature in two bodies, for a long time, until I forgot what I'd been upset about and I was myself again.

I am not a huge fan of the one-sided pining romances where the guy is a perfect love-object because we don't see inside his head.

Because you have only known me for like fourteen seconds and seven of those were us making out and you still know more about me than all of my friends in this stupid place.

Everything mattered and nothing did, and I was tired of trying to find out how both of those things were true. I was an itch that I'd scratched so hard I was bleeding. I had set out to do the impossible, whatever the impossible might be, only to find out that it was living with myself. Suicide became an expiration date, the day after which I no longer had to try.

Again and Again, however, we know the language of love, and the little churchyard with its lamenting names and the staggeringly secret abyss in which others find their end: again and again the two of us go out under the ancient trees, make our bed again and again between the flowers, face to face with the skies

How long it takes us, each day, to know each other.

Right now, it's hard to imagine that it is raining anywhere in the world.