America’s not really a melting pot. It’s more like one of those divided metal plates with sperate sections for starch, meat, and veggies.

[…] you can love someone and still have a not-so-great relationship with them. I wonder how much of our non-relationship is because of typical father versus teenage boy stuff […] and how much of it is cultural […]?

As our eyes meet, I get a kind of déjà vu, but instead of feeling like I’m repeating something in the past, it feels like I’m experiencing something that will happen in my future.

Words, […] should behave more like units of measure, A meter is a meter is a meter. Words shouldn’t be allowed to change meanings. Who decides that the meaning has changed, and when?

The poetic heart is not to be trusted. It is fickle and will lead you astray. It will tell you that all you need is love and dreams. […] The poetic heart is not to be trusted with long-term decision making.

For a minute, I let myself feel how tired I am. It’s hard trying to hold on to a place that doesn’t want you.

I love this part of getting to know someone. How every new piece of information, every new expression, seems magical.

To grow up is to grow apart.

Who are we if not a product of our parents and their histories.

Names are powerful things. They act as an identity marker and a kind of map, locating you in time and geography. More than that, they can be a compass.

That’s the thing that makes me wary.Where did all those feelings go?People spend their whole lives looking for love.Poems and songs and entire novels are written about it.But how can you trust something that can end as suddenly as it begins

It’s hard to love someone who doesn’t love you back.

I don’t believe in fate, but I’m desperate.