She was still waiting for him to come back to her, even though he wasn’t going to. She was still holding out for something that wasn’t going to happen. She was good at waiting. That seemed like a sad thing to be good at.

Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.

I wish you’d find the exit out of my head.

Destruction can be beautiful to some people. Don’t ask me why. It just is. And if they can’t find anything to destroy, they destroy themselves.

I always find it more difficult to say the things I mean than the things I don’t.

I think I still have rain somewhere in my heart.

All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.

Everyone you will ever meet knows something you don’t.

If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place, I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you.

Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad dreams, your shoes, your nouns. Take me to your fingers.

We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine.

Sometimes I wanted to peel away all of my skin and find a different me underneath.

he was like a piano in a country where everyone has had their hands cut off.

She still loves you. She wouldn’t bother to torture you if she didn’t.

As long as someone’s holding your hand, it doesn’t matter where you’re going. As long as someone’s listening to you, it doesn’t matter what you are talking about.

A couple of times in your life, it happens like that. You meet a stranger, and all you know is that you need to know everything about them.

I’ve decided not to fall in love again. It’s a disgusting habit.

Can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been?

I have been waiting all my life to be with you. My heart slams against my ribs when I think of the slaughtered nights I spent all over the world waiting to feel your touch.

Loving you feels like learning a foreign language. At first it doesn’t make any sense to me and I don’t understand what I keep doing wrong. I’m flustered and I sound stupid. But the point of learning a language is that the more time you spend with it, the better you get. Being in love with you feels like learning more about you, what you like, what you don’t like. Loving you feels like being out and seeing something that reminds me of you. Love is like being fluent in you.

Whenever I get tired, I just wish to lose the ability to feel and think.

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