“I’m not a romantic, I’m a half-wit. Only stupid people would think I’m smart. I’m not something anyone should know. I’m a lunatic wandering around for scraps, I’m like every single miserable moron I’ve scorned and pretended I didn’t recognize. I’m all of them, every last ugly thing in a bad last-minute costume. I’m not different, not at all, not different from any other speck of a thing. I’m a blemished blemish, a ruined ruin, a stained wreck so failed I can’t see what I used to be.”

“I’m not a cuckoo, either. I’m a fool is what.”

“I opened my mouth and kissed you then, the first time all night, attacked you and surrendered completely, and let’s get out of here. I’m ready, I’m finished, let’s not break up, no, no. Take me home, my boyfriend, my love.”

“But it’s December now, and the sky is bright, and it’s clear to me. I’m telling you why we broke up, Ed. I’m writing it in this letter, the whole truth of why it happened. And the truth is that I goddamn loved you so much.”

“She’s so, everybody’s so stupid, you know? Christian too, Todd, whoever says stupid things, you’re from different worlds, like you dropped here in a spaceship.”I had to say something. “Yeah,” I said. “So—?”“So they can fuck themselves,” you said. “I don’t care, you know?”I felt a smile on my face, tears too.“Because Min, I know, OK? I’m stupid I know, about faggy movies, sorry, fuck, I’m stupid about that too. No offense. Ha! But I want to do it, Min.Any party you want, anything, not go to bonfires. Whatever you want to do, for the eighty-ninth birthday, even though I can’t remember the name.”“Lottie Carson.” I stepped close to you, but you held your hands out, you weren’t done.“And they’ll say things, right? I know they will, of course they will. Your friends are, probably, too, right?”“Yes,” I said. I felt furious, or furiously something, pacing with you and waiting to fall into your moving arms.“Yes,” you said, with a huge grin. “Let’s stay together, I want to be with you. Let’s. Yes?”“Yes.”“Because I don’t care, virginity, different, arty, weird parties with bad cake, that igloo. Just together, Min.”“Yes.”“Like everyone is telling us not to be.”“Yes!”“Because Min, listen, I love you.”I gaped.“Don’t, you don’t have to—I know it’s crazy, Joan says I’ve really lost it, but—”“I love you too,” I said.”

“Do you do them in that old-fashioned code,like daffodils mean I’m sorry I was late, daisies mean sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friends, these things here fanned out mean just thinking of you?Or did you just have them throw whatever was pretty together?”

“Dream dialogue: 
-Don’t cry. I, too, know what it’s like to be different.
-But I’m not different. I’m normal, I’m average, and that’s why I’m crying.”