This Is Like A Cookie, It Tastes

The Whole Thing Of What I’ve Been Trying,” You Said, “is That You’re Different, And You Keep Asking About The Other Girls, But What I Mean Is That I Don’t Think About Them, Because Of The Way You Are.

I Think I’ve Always Believed That There Is One Person In The Universe Who You’re Truly Meant For–for Whom You Are Truly Meant–and The Fact That Sometimes There Are Two Or Even More People On The Earth You Can Fall In Love With Really Bothers Me. It Suggests That If You Work Hard You Can Be Meant For Anyone.

There Is A Kind Of Crying I Hope You Have Not Experienced, And It Is Not Just Crying About Something Terrible That Has Happened, But A Crying For All Of The Terrible Things That Have Happened, Not Just To You But To Everyone You Know And To Everyone You Don’t Know And Even The People You Don’t Want To Know, A Crying That Cannot Be Diluted By A Brave Deed Or A Kind Word, But Only By Someone Holding You As Your Shoulders Shake And Your Tears Run Down Your Face.

I Don’t Smoke, Although It Looks Fantastic In Films. But I Light Matches On Those Thinking Blank Nights When I Crawl My Route Out Onto The Roof Of The Garage And The Sky While My Parents Sleep Innocent And The Lonely Cars Move Sparse On The Faraway Streets, When The Pillow Won’t Stay Cool And The Blankets Bother My Body No Matter How I Move Or Lie Still. I Just Sit With My Legs Dangling And Light Matches And Watch Them Flicker Away.

It Is Often Difficult To Admit That Someone You Love Is Not Perfect, Or To Consider Aspects Of A Person That Are Less Than Admirable.