This Is The Trap Of Having Something

Here," She Said. "this Is For You." "i Didn't Really Get You Anything," I Sputtered. "i Mean, I Didn't Know That You Were Going To Be Here, And--" "don't Worry. It's Your Embarrassment At Not Having The Thought That Counts.

I Know From Experience That Beneath Every Peripheral Girl Is A Central Truth. She’s Hiding Hers Away, But At The Same Time She Wants Me To See It.

Why Is It So Much Easier To Talk To A Stranger? Why Do We Feel We Need To Disconnect In Order To Connect? If I Wrote "dear Sofia" Or "dear Boomer" Or "dear Lily's Great-aunt" At The Top Of This Postcard, Wouldn't That Change The Words That Followed? Of Course It Would. But The Question Is: When I Wrote "dear Lily," Was That Just A Version Of "dear Myself"? I Know It Was More Than That. But It Was Also Less Than That, Too

You Wanna-i Dunno-get Coffee Or Something Sometime?

Sometimes When You Hit Send, You Can Imagine The Message Going Straight Into The Person's Heart. But Other Times, Like This Time, It Feels Like The Words Are Merely Falling Into A Well.