Bibliophile

Last night, I got up the courage to ask you if you regretted us.
‘There are things I miss,’ you said. ‘But if I didn’t have you, I’d miss more’

When I say ‘Be my lover’, I don’t mean ‘Lets have an affair. I don’t mean, ‘Sleep with me’. I don’t mean ‘Be my secret’. I want us to go back down to that root. I want you to be the one who loves me. I want to be the one who loves you.

I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.

There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. It’s like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction—every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it’s really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour.

Thomas Edison’s last words were: “It’s very beautiful over there.” I don’t know where there is, but I believe it’s somewhere, and I hope it’s beautiful