...you're waiting because you thought it would follow, you thought there would be some logic, perhaps, something to pull it all together but here we are in the weeds again, here we are in the bowels of the thing: your world doesn't make sense.

I sleep. I dream. I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly.

You’re falling now. You’re swimming. This is not           harmless. You are not                     breathing.

Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again.

You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

...you're waiting because you thought it would follow, you thought there would be some logic, perhaps, something to pull it all together but here we are in the weeds again, here we are in the bowels of the thing: your world doesn't make sense.

Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.