Bokelskere.no

That's the thing about pain...it demands to be felt

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations

Okay.

Appraising myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth I kept thinking there were two kinds of adults: There were Peter Van Houtens - miserable creatures who scoured the earth in search of something to hurt. And then there were people like my parents, who walked around zombically, doing whatever they had to do to keep walking around.

"Observation: It would be awesome to fly in a superfast airplane that could chase the sunrise around the world for a while."

I could feel everybody watching us, wondering what was wrong with us, and whether it would kill us, and how heroic my mum must be, and everything else. That was the worst part about having cancer, sometimes: The physical evidence of disease separates you from other people. We were irreconcilably other, and never was it more obvious than when the three of us walked through the empty plane, the stewardess nodding sympathetically and gesturing us toward our row in the distant back.

As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.

Off topic, but: What a slut time is. She screws everybody.)

To be with him was to hurt him - inevitably. And that's what I'd felt as he reached for me: I'd felt as though I were committing an act of violence against him, because I was.

(...)the existence of broccoli does not in any way affect the taste of chocolate.