Before My First Novel, I Was Dating

Forget The Fountain Of Youth, Pal Of Mine. You Can Live To Be A Thousand, And It Won't Matter. Mediocrities Like You Deserve Immortality.

Italy Has Sun And Tomatoes, And Russia Just Has Real Problems.

Asthmatic Immigrant Learns To Breathe By Writing.

Then I Celebrated My Wall Of Books. I Counted The Volumes On My Twenty-foot-long Modernist Bookshelf To Make Sure None Had Been Misplaced Or Used As Kindling By My Subtenant. “you’re My Sacred Ones,” I Told The Books. “no One But Me Still Cares About You. But I’m Going To Keep You With Me Forever. And One Day I’ll Make You Important Again.” I Thought About That Terrible Calumny Of The New Generation: That Books Smell.

I Feel Safe With Him Because He Is So Not My Ideal And I Feel Like I Can Be Myself Because I'm Not In Love With Him.