Maybe that's why people take pictures of themselves, to avoid being described.

I cried in English, I cried in french, I cried in all the languages, because tears are the same all around the world.

Some people are uncomfortable with silences. Not me. I’ve never cared much for call and response. Sometimes I will think of something to say and then I ask myself: is it worth it? And it just isn’t.

Nothing really mattered, and nothing could be lost.

It was a small thing, but it was a thing, and things have a way of either dying or growing, and it wasn’t dying.

We had loved people we really shouldn't have loved and then married other people in order to forget our impossible loves, or we had once called out hello into the cauldron of the world and then run away before anyone could respond.

I had a joint once and I didn't feel right for a whole year