The problem is that you don’t get to pick and choose when you get to be weak or strong. Life doesn’t work that way.

There is nothing more dangerous than someone who comes to realize that the reality they’ve been force-fed isn’t the only option.

Why do you love me?” I ask, throwing the question back at him. “Why do I breathe?

Troglodyte? Five points to the guy for using an SAT word correctly.

Just because an institution gives you authority doesn’t mean you gain any respect – not one ounce – from the people you’re supposed to manage.

I taste the past in his kiss. I taste apologies and regrets, questions without answers, the fine-grooved sense of time making me relax and tense up at the same time. Meaning doesn’t matter in this brief flash of touch. What this kiss means isn’t important. That it’s happening at all is.

What he’d learned over the past year, though, was that being complete wasn’t something that you acquired by loving the right person. It was something you had to put together within yourself so that when you did meet the right person you could detect their completeness. And that was when you knew you were home.

If you ever run out of topics to talk about with boys under the age of, oh, thirty-five, just talk about poop. It’s the universal language of immature males. Fine. All males.

Being naked and vulnerable in front of someone you love is an act of trust. Being naked and vulnerable in front of billions of people on social media, turned into an object of ridicule and scorn, is an act of war. The masses turn your picture into a battlefield, covered only in your own blood.

How much memory do we pack into our skin?