My relationship with love is terribly neurotic. The beautifully messy, chaotic unendingness of it is wonderful beyond words and mind-numbingly frustrating. Each moment is passionate, whether it be deliriously, maddeningly, simply, exquisitely, or heart-breakingly so. I have become lost in the poetry of it—the marvelously rhythmic nature of it—to the extent that I blame it for the blissful psychosis that follows me into bed and prose and wakefulness alike.
It’s sunny in Michigan for the first time in what feels like a tiny ice age, so I’m loving life. How is everyone? I miss you guys.
"What Is Love? I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, the water passed through his shoes and the stars through his soul."
"A healthy relationship is one where two independent people just make a deal that they will help make the other person the best version of themselves."
"I love you. Remember. They cannot take it"
"I just want to pour my soul out on someone and not have to worry about the mess I’ve made."
"Remember happiness doesn’t depend on who you are or what you have, it depends solely on what you think."
"It’s so easy to get caught up in what people expect of you. Sometimes, you can just lose yourself."