She's a people-mechanic and always knows when I'm malfunctioning.

How can the word love, the word life, even fit in the mouth?

As I walk through the redwood trees, my sneakers sopping up days of rain, I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes, when grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe.

She glitters like she walked out of a Klimt painting

I love pizza, meaning: Even when I’m in the middle of eating pizza, I wish I were eating pizza.

If someone told me I could hang out in da Vinci's studio while he painted the Mona Lisa or go up on Brian's roof with him at night - I'm on the roof

He's the one. And some thoughts once thought are very hard to unthink.

He doesn’t have to say it, I feel it too; it’s not subtle - like every bell for miles and miles is ringing at once, loud and clanging, hungry ones and tiny, happy, chiming ones, all of them sounding off in this moment. I put my hands around his neck, pull him to me, and then he’s kissing me hard and so deep, and i am flying, sailing, soaring…

Hummingbirds laze around him. Fruit falls out of trees right into his open palms...I've never felt this relaxed in my life. I keep forgetting my body and then have to go back and get it.