“It's just Jessica and Marcus, oxymoronically alone together.”

“Jessica..." The sound of his voice saying my name soothed me, and it's all I wanted to hear him say. Just my name, over and over and over again in his buttery baritone. I wanted my name to be his mantra, the word he meditated on, his tool for finding calm in the world.But he kept on talking.”

“My thoughts create my world -Marcus Flutie”

“Marcus Flutie slept with just about every girl on the Eastern Seaboard except me. Though, he tried to get into my panties when I was a freshman but turned him down because I refuse to disempower myself just for a few clit twitches.”

“chromosomal danceoh, heavenly happenstancerare creation, you-Marcus (Poetry Spam #22)”

“Girls will get together just to get together. Guys need an activity as an excuse. Otherwise it’s too homo for them to handle.”

“I thought Marcus was going to be in my life forever. Then I thought I was wrong. Now he’s back. But this time I know what’s certain: Marcus will be gone again, and back again and again and again because nothing is permanent. Especially people. Strangers become friends. Friends become lovers. Lovers become strangers. Strangers become friends once more, and over and over. Tomorrow, next week, fifty years from now, I know I’ll get another one-word postcard from Marcus, because this one doesn’t have a period signifying the end of the sentence.Or the end of anything at all.”