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There is not enough time to make all the things one's imagination can conjure.

So you didn't have the love you needed. Big deal. Let me tell you about all the love you have. It will be bigger than the anger and it will grow around the sadness. It will drown you. You will become it.

I cannot rise. Too heavy with filth and sin. - Give me your hand. I'll stain you. - I'll take it.

what a beautiful calling. you and i are in different times, and will never meet, but here is the greeting i'd owe you. if you never get to see a person, what do you say? hello! i love you. be good out there. be safe.

How do I say it? In this language there are no words for how the real world collapses. I could say it in my own and the sacred mounds would come into focus, but I couldn't take it in this dingy envelope.

I wish you a kinder sea.

How do I know I love her? Because I can sleep after I talk to her.

I help you move, I bake you a pie, I sit next to you on purpose. How are you not getting the message yet? What do you want? A love poem? I don't know how to write those. Here, take this rock. It's your favorite color.

When I meet others like me I recognize the longing, the missing, the memory of ash on their faces. No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark.

baptise me in hot dog water you and i both know the holy stuff won't take

Emerging from an Abyss, and re-entering it-- that is life, is it not, dear?

What if they are the true dwelling of the holy? These fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here, have my seat,” “Go ahead-- you first.” “I like your hat.”

I can't say I would fall down dead for you, bruise my knees praying to you for reasons wretched and divine? To be so obscene, would be such a nightmare. But it would all be true. I can't say it, I am still bound, so instead, I hand you an orange and say “Would you like to share?”

having love in your heart will literally save you from the otherwise cataclysmic experience of being a human being

As for lovers, they are discovering new ways to love. Listen, their windows are open. You can hear them laughing.

I need a father, I need a mother, I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God but the sky is empty.

I wanted to tell them that I felt sadness in my chest and guilt in my shoulders and anger in my throat. I felt anger in my hands. I felt it travel to my head until my whole body was drenched in wrath. Somedays I think my anger's entirely me and not just a second skin.

How could I close the gap I created between myself and everyone I met? And until I learned to love, how would I heal?

Funny thing about grief, its hold is so bright and determined like a flame, like something almost worth living for.

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.