But I knew that there couldn't be pockets that enormous. In the end, everyone loses everyone. There was no invention to get around that, and so I felt, that night, like the turtle that everything else in the universe was on top of.
But I knew that there couldn't be pockets that enormous. In the end, everyone loses everyone. There was no invention to get around that, and so I felt, that night, like the turtle that everything else in the universe was on top of.
I could write more, but that is all that matters.
I observe, I write, I try not to remember the life that I didn't want to loose but lost and have to remember, being here fills my heart with so much joy, even if the joy isn't mine, and at the end of the day I fill the suitcase with old news.
I want an infinitely blank book and the rest of time.
In the morning, when the nothing vase casts a something shadow, like the memory of someone you've lost, what can you say about that?
No matter how much I feel, I'm not going to let it out. If I have to cry, I'm gonna cry on the inside. If I have to bleed, I'll bruise. If my heart starts going crazy, I'm not gonna tell everyone in the world about it. It doesn't help anything. It just makes everyone's life worse.
Succotash my cocker spaniel, you fudging crevasse-hole dipshiitake!
We were trying to make our lives easier, trying, with all our rules, to make life effortless. But a friction began to arise between Nothing and Something, in the morning the Nothing vase cast a Something shadow, like the memory of someone you've lost, what can you say about that, at night the Nothing light spilled from the guest room spilled under the Nothing door and stained the Something hallway, there's nothing to say.
But I knew the truth and that's why I was so sad. Every moment before this one depends on this one. Everything in the history of the world can be proven wrong in one moment.
I couldn't explain my need to myself, and that's why it was such a beautiful need
I put my hand on him. Touching him has always been important to me, it was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches, my fingers against his shoulder, the outsides of our thighs touching as we squeeled together on the bus. I couldnt explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stiching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love?
I wanted so much to have a life. Even just once, even for a second.
It broke my heart into more pieces than my heart was made of, why can't people say what they mean at the time?
One weird thing is, I wonder if everyone's hearts would start to beat at the same time, like how women who live together have their menstrual periods at the same time, which I know about, but don't really want to know about.
That's the difference between heaven and hell! In hell we starve! In heaven we feed each other!
What about the teakettle? What if the spout opened and closed when the steam came out, so it would become a mouth, and it could whistle pretty melodies, or do Shakespeare, or just crack up with me.
But I still couldn't figure out what it all meant. The more I found out, the less I understood.
I did not feel that he owed it to me. And I did not feel like I owed it to him. We owed it to each other, which is something different.
I put my hand on the doorknob because I thought maybe her hand was on the doorknob on the other side.
I wanted to cry but I didn't, I probably should have cried, I should have drowned us there in the room ending our suffering.
It was getting hard to keep all the things I didn't know inside me.
People around the world were moving from one place to another. No one was staying.
The moment before he started was my favorite moment.
What if I never stop inventing?
Did she always have something to read in front of her so she wouldn't have to look at anything else?
I didn't feel empty. I wished I'd felt empty. ... I wanted to be empty like an overturned pitcher. But I was full like a stone.
I realized that your mother couldn't see the emptiness, she couldn't see anything...All of the words I'd written to her over all of those years, had I never said anything to hear at all?
I wanted to shout myself into his ear.
It was terrible. All of the things we couldn't share. The room was filled with conversations we weren't having.
She had been in love so many times that she began to suspect she was not falling in love, but rather doing something much more ordinary
The paper, the stapler, the staples, the tape. It makes me sick. Physical things. Forty years of loving someone becomes staples and tape.
What were we spending so much time doing if not getting to know each other?
Do you have any coffee?'...'It stunts my growth, and I'm afraid of death.
I don't mind if smiles come at my expense, I'm a small price to pay.
I regret how much I believed in the future.
I wanted to touch him, to tell him that even if everyone left everyone, I would never leave him, he talked and talked, his words fell through him, trying to find the floor to his sadness....
It was the first time I had ever made love. I wondered if he knew that. It felt like crying. I wondered, Why does anyone ever make love?
She laughed enough to migrate an entire flock of birds. That was how she said yes
The secret was a hole in the middle of me that every happy thing fell into.
When I looked ay you my life made sense. Even the bad things made sense. They were necessary to make you possible.
Each day has been chained to the previous one. But the weeks have wings. Anyone who believes that a second is faster than a decade did not live my life.
I felt suddenly shy. I was not used to shy. I was used to shame. Shyness is when you turn your head away from something you want. Shame is when you turn your head away from something you do not want.
I regret that it takes a life to learn how to live.
I was more alone than if I had been alone.
It's a rule that we never listen to sad music, we made that rule early on, songs are as sad as the listener, we hardly ever listen to music.
She let out a laugh, and then she put her hand over her mouth, like she was angry at herself for forgetting her sadness.
Their length could not be measured in years, just as an ocean could not explain the distance we have traveled, just as the dead can never be counted.
Why didn't I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.
Even if I don't like what I am, I know what I am. My children like what they are, but they don't know what they are. So tell me which is worse.
I flipped back through the pad of paper while I thought about what Stephen Hawking would do next.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories