I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love.

There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room.

But they know. They all know. And what am I against so many…?

Widow. The word consumes itself.

Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little?

I had decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover.

I'm doped and thick from my last sleeping pill.