“We both breathe in at the same time. I don’t know if we’re breathing one another in, or if we’re both trying not to cry.”
“When we pull away we’re both breathing hard, but I don’t think she’s thinking about her aunt or her mom anymore. “Damn I’m good.”
“Because at the end of the day that’s what we’re all trying to do: fit in, one way or another, desperately trying to pretend we’re all the same.”
“I just hope that one day - preferably when we’re both blind drunk - we can talk about it.”
“I feel like I’m holding my breath all the time, never knowing when my lungs will just give up. The air we’re supposed to breathe is up above – I can feel it.”
“Just…tell me I’m not crazy,” he whispered. “That this…isn’t as insane as I think it is”…“I don’t know … Maybe we’re both a little crazy.”“I can live with that.”