How is anybody supposed to hide happiness like this?

What I wrote about in the essay was about grass growing from the mouths of corpses.

Maybe it is always like this. We are granted these tiny windows of time, these small pockets of space, where nothing else intrudes. Maybe that’s all we can ever hope to get, together. And maybe, just maybe, it will be enough.

And then I’ll read one of your letters and think, People have no idea what I’m like. I mean the gap between what people see and what’s actually in my head sort of shocks me when I read your letters. I guess everyone has this gap. It’s just that they don’t come face-to-face with it very often.

I want to walk down the hallways of Lincoln High with one part of me in the eternal, the timeless, and the other part of me slipping so fast through the here and now that nobody can pin me down, not even the butcherboys.

A word kept flashing in my head. One word, over and over, like a flashing neon sign. Lucky.

My beautiful, laughable fable of a life.

We’re all bending over backward to get you to crack a smile, because when you smile it feels like the sun coming out.

I don’t know what was in my head before I met you. What did I even think about? Because whatever it was, it’s not in there anymore. It’s gone. I am completely, one hundred percent all the time filled up with you.

You undid me, Kurl, in more ways than one.