“She said she wanted to see beautiful things. I took her to where i planted my seeds.”

“She said before i could touch her walls I'd have to touch her heart. so i did.”

“I’m not sure what it was or where she sprayed it, but her scent will be the end of the life I loved. And I will find comfort in the simpleness of sitting with her on a Saturday afternoon with nothing else to do.”

“I,” I start, and she turns to look at my lips moving, rehearsing for some grand proposal. “I think it’d be good idea if you brought a few books over and left them on my shelf.” I’m a writer, and this is as good as it gets. She didn’t need a ring, just the ability to borrow a bookmark whenever she needed, or unwritten or unspoken permission to take my copy of Cecil Brown’s The Life and Loves of Mr. Jiveass Nigger with the original cover.”

“she's lazy, so i'm not sure when she had time to build that wall she has surrounding her.”

“You have to have a view of something,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll believe yourself to be a god, not knowing there are a million other things out there bigger than you.”

“I spent four minutes yesterday looking for the halfway point between where I am & where I want to be. I found the city—you just have to tell me if you want pizza, coffee or strange street meat. Just four minutes searching, but all day (really all week), I've been thinking of this letter & you.”