The personal quirks you’d hoped were endearing turn out to be profoundly irritating to the people around you.

If I died right now it would be happily, with your vegetables prepped on the kitchen counter, your carrots and onions on the stove, and the sounds of yard work drifting in the window.

The possibility of something else entirely.
To be nothing. To be as nothing.

The older couple at the next table, whose lingering self regard stems from the memory that they were considered beautiful three or four decades ago.

We all fell apart, while they just got younger and younger.

What you wrote, I thought about it what it might have meant, and I don’t think it meant anything.
What I wrote wasn’t about what I wrote. It was about what you might think about it.

Memory will have to suffice.

With a shocking lack of hesitation, she was gone. In an instant he was turned inside out, a pile of guts on the sidewalk.
It would have been a year in May, hey hey hey.

Looking back, it’s clear that you were far more ridiculous than you realized at the time, and that the same is true today.

The people around him were often depressed. He was a “carrier.”

Attempting to escape the feeling is worse than the feeling itself.

Fourteen year old girl, April 19, 2009
Today is Thursday. I saw my therapist. We doubled the dosage.
All I can think is one more time from the beginning.

Each morning he stepped out, felt the air on his skin, and gave thanks for this new reprieve.

Would I give up a lifetime for one more day with you? In a second.

Beloved by millions—and a nasty piece of work.