lunes, 18 de octubre de 2010

Things change the way you feel. And things change.

To know you like your tongue knows the back of your teeth. That's all I want.

I was wondering if you had a second. To talk about anything at all.

When we get to the end of this, you're going to need to remind me whose turn it is to leave.

You and me, we're clever. People, on the other hand, are stupid.

One day, you will be given back every pen you've ever lost.

We will make you comfortable before you leave. Not for your memory. But for ours.

If nothing else, one day you can look someone straight in the eyes and say
"But I lived through it. And it made me who I am today."

Sometimes I touch the things you used to touch, looking for echoes of your fingers.

Between you and me (somewhere between now and then), this is where we buried the children we once were.

Which is why you make me feel like a moth that's reached the moon.

I hope they make you happy. That's what I'll say.

If you enjoy the title of your job more than your job, you're in the wrong job.


Sunday morning rain is falling.

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