There Was No One To Call Me

Our Kiss Was Niticlimactic. It Wasn't That The Kiss Was Bad, But It Was Just A Note Of Punctuation In Our Long Conversation, A Parenthetical Remark Made In Order To Assure Each Other Of A Deeply Felt Agreement, A Mutual Offer Of Companionship, Which Is So Much More Rare Than Sexual Passion Or Even Love.

Part Of Me Is Made Of Glass, And Also, I Love You.

I Take Almost No Notes When I Write. I Have One Notebook - This Old Green Leather Notebook That My Dad Gave Me A Decade Ago.

I Do Realize That The Reader Needs Some Form Of Resolution. Sometimes I Think Of It Almost Like Writing A Musical Score Where Things Have To Harmonize And Certain Lines Have To Come To A Close.

Now We'd Known Each Other For Two Years, The Side Of My Calf Was Touching His Shins, And His Stomach Was Against My Ribs. He Said, "i Don't Think It's End Of World To Be My Girlfriend." I Opened My Mouth, But Nothing Came Out. It Took Seven Languages To Make Me; It Would Be Nice If I Could Have Spoken Just One.