He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand.

Fairy tales have rules. You are a princess or you aren’t. You are pure at heart or you aren’t. If you are pure at heart, or lucky, you might catch a break.

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.

Everything affects my poetry, every day something happens that changes me forever. I’m susceptible and plastic, thin-skinned and moody.

You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back.

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

Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.