Maybe the best we can hope for is that those we leave behind find comfort in knowing, that we’re born out of love, and not science. That biology explains the how, but love explains the why

We come from the mentality, that rarely sees the horror in symmetry or the beauty in non-conformity

A question like “do you love me?” was an itch our doctors told us not to scratch.

I accept that today may be imperfect... I accept that I may be as well. What I don't accept is that imperfection should be the crutch I use to excuse myself from participating in joy.

I will not stop. I will not slow down. I will not pull over to ask for directions. I will build the road that takes me where I want to be and I will drive, drive, drive. I will drive until the vehicle around me breaks down, falls apart and tumbles into useless debris... and then I will walk.

But we are more than genteel or civilized/ we are an idea in the process of being realized.

I don't want to turn any of this into poetry / but / you're so beautiful / flowers turn their heads to smell you