“The white noise in his heart, the sum of all his colors —the metronome to which he beat [was she].”

“You're too big for another heart beat, unable to sync with my capricious heart beating.”

“…I felt each beat slowing as his breathe fell away from my world. “You’re going to be okay” I lied, as blood spilled painting my fingers crimson. He stared blankly gasping for breath. My fingers never worked the same after that day. They became wild, fierce---unruly. And heart? I don’t know where heart is; I think he still has her.”

“She has been trying to pull her worth from him for so long. She has been trying to extract her beauty from his skin. She has been dying to be loved by him again...but he will always leave her empty”

“…..pump, pump, pump- where is it? It’s fading fast (the sound of his heart as I laid on his bed), it’s disappearing as i drift to sleep (but its still in my head, always in my head–haunting).”

“You are my heart, my head, my spine-you are the beat thumping through every line, and that’s why I write–it’s the only time we can be side by side.”

“...I know I’ve broken all the rules of all the games, that all the great players and best love calculators recommend that you play, if you want to make someone like you a lot. But that’s okay, because I give up. I’ve got my coffee sitting in my San Francisco cup, I’ve got Kona island and a working beating heart that’s not cold, hard, or numb—very workable and capable of loving, breaking, mending and repeating. So that’s just what I’ll do. Because I’m too tired. Too tired uping all nighting wasting my precious timing wishing it was your heart pumping, wanting me— like I used to want you.”