“Don’t wake me, I plan on sleeping in”

“There is something worth gritting your teeth or going meditation dead for”

“I take a picture of it. I delete it. I un-delete it.”

“We would have to build new pantheons, new meanings.”

“here we were standing outside a church on a Tuesday morning looking for help.”

“your arms and legs stretched in four directions”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, for shooting me 44 times”

“Hold hands [or not]. Smoke pot. Sleep. Turn down advances.”

“It’s the morning after Halloween. I’m still in my fox costume”

“I panicked on the fourth day when I realized…”

“the opportunity to cement this long-standing but impersonal connection”

“stars drag their fingertips through the flesh of my body”

“there is a certain level of humility the offending partner must assume”

“My 80-year-old father lines up to buy his ration of food”

“It is my Hail Mary of self-destruction”

“drugs on the living room table, like other houses have flowers or a bowl of fruit”

“the stories we each hold in our joints and flesh”

“After he died I’d lie on my bed. Sobbing. Skinless.”

“Maybe I’m also Jessica Jones.”

“like what sex is supposed to be. Giving in.”