these vivid colors

I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever. Your leg, my leg, your arm, my arm, your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.

A marriage is a private thing. It has its own wild laws, and secret histories, and savage acts, and what passes between married people is incomprehensible to outsiders. We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying, but what we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the colour, just the shape.

(..) Hands are unbearably beautiful. They hold on to things. They let things go.

You’re going to have a hard time in life if you let every little mistake bother you.. Life is good. Enjoy it.

People always say that it hurts at night, and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken. But sometimes it’s 9am on a tuesday morning and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up and the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss him so much you don’t know what to do with your hands.

There are days that must happen to you.

How to murder someone: kiss them once and never again.