I love you also means I love you more than anyone loves you, or has loved you, or will love you, and also, I love you in a way that no one loves you, or has loved you, or will love you, and also, I love you in a way that I love no one else, and never have loved anyone else, and never will love anyone else.
Why didn’t I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.
She wants to know if I love her, that’s all anyone wants from anyone else, not love itself but the knowledge that love is there, like new batteries in the flashlight in the emergency kit in the hall closet.
I like to see people reunited, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can’t tell fast enough, the ears that aren’t big enough, the eyes that can’t take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone.
It’s the tragedy of loving, you can’t love anything more than something you miss.
Songs are as sad as the listener.
Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn’t the world, it wasn’t the bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don’t know, but it’s so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.
We had everything to say to each other, but no ways to say it.
It was not the feeling of completeness I so needed, but the feeling of not being empty.
I wondered, for the first time in my life, if life was worth all the work it took to live. What exactly made it worth it? What’s so horrible about being dead forever, and not feeling anything, and not even dreaming? What’s so great about feeling and dreaming?
I wanted to tell her everything, maybe if I’d been able to, we could have lived differently, maybe I’d be there with you now instead of here. Maybe… if I’d said, ‘I’m so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything,’ maybe that would have made the impossible possible. Maybe, but I couldn’t do it, I had buried too much too deeply inside me. And here I am, instead of there.
If it weren’t my life, I wouldn’t have believed it.
Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on. I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.
I try not to remember the life that I didn’t want to lose but lost and have to remember.
For how long could we fail until we surrendered?
She extended a hand that I didn’t know how to take, so I broke its fingers with my silence.
The mistakes I’ve made are dead to me. But I can’t take back the things I never did.
I thought about all of the things that everyone ever says to each other, and how everyone is going to die, whether it’s in a millisecond, or days, or months, or 76.5 years, if you were just born. Everything that’s born has to die, which means our lives are like skyscrapers. The smoke rises at different speeds, but they’re all on fire, and we’re all trapped.
You are the only one who has understood even a whisper of me, and I will tell you that I am the only person who has understood even a whisper of you.”
But I still couldn’t figure out what it all meant. The more I found out, the less I understood.
I wanted to cry but I didn’t, I probably should have cried, I should have drowned us there in the room ending our suffering.
I thought, it’s a shame that we have to live, but it’s a tragedy that we get to live only one life, because if I’d had two lives, I would have spent one of them with her.
I spent my life learning to feel less. Every day I felt less. Is that growing old? Or is it something worse? You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.
We could imagine all sorts of universes unlike this one, but this is the one that happened.
Everything is the way it is because everything was the way it was. Sometimes I feel ensnared in this, as if no matter what I do, what will come has already been fixed.
We talked about nothing in particular, but it felt like we were talking about the most important things…
Sometimes people who seem good end up being not as good as you might have hoped, you know?
I wish I were a poet. I’ve never confessed that to anyone, and I’m confessing it to you, because you’ve given me reason to feel that I can trust you. I’ve spent my life observing the universe, mostly in my mind’s eye. It’s been a tremendously rewarding life, a wonderful life. I’ve been able to explore the origins of time and space with some of the great living thinkers. But I wish I were a poet. Albert Einstein, a hero of mine, once wrote, ‘Our situation is the following. We are standing in front of a closed box which we cannot open.’ I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the vast majority of the universe is composed of dark matter. The fragile balance depends on things we’ll never be able to see, hear, smell, taste, or touch. Life itself depends on them. What’s real? What isn’t real? Maybe those aren’t the right questions to be asking. What does life depend on?
I wish I had made things for life to depend on.
If we communicated with something like music, we would never be misunderstood, because there is nothing in music to understand.
I have so much to say to you. I want to begin at the beginning, because that is what you deserve. I want to tell you everything, without leaving out a single detail. But where is the beginning? And what is everything?
I wanted so much to have a life. Even just once, even for a second.
It’s hard to say goodbye to the place you’ve lived. It can be as hard as saying goodbye to a person.
I was more alone than if I had been alone.
It was terrible. All of the things we couldn’t share. The room was filled with conversations we weren’t having.
I’d lost count of the disappointments.
Whether we change our lives or do nothing, we have responded. To do nothing is to do something.
I’m sorry for my inability to let unimportant things go, for my inability to hold on to the important things.
Sometimes one simply wants to disappear.
Let love write on you for awhile.
Try to live so that you can always tell the truth.
Please be truthful, but also please be benevolent, please.
“He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others – the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the mid-afternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.”—Jonathan Safran Foer (via troubled)
“I’m lonely. And I’m lonely in some horribly deep way and for a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely, and how deep this feeling runs. And it scares the shit out of me to be this lonely because it seems catastrophic.”—Augusten Burroughs, Dry (via 13neighbors)
“I think one of the highest compliments you can give a person is that when you are talking to him, you are not thinking about the fact that you are talking to him. That is, your thoughts and words all exist on a single, engaged level. You are being yourself because you aren’t bothering to think about who you should be. It is like when you talk in a dream.”—David Levithan, How They Met, and Other Stories (via 13neighbors)