Quotes About Connection

You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.

We laugh & it pits the world against us.

The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I'm alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling.

History repeats itself. Someone says this. History throws its shadow over beginning, over the desktop, over the sock drawer with its socks, its hidden letters. history is the little man in a brown suit trying to define a room he is outside of, I know history. There are many names in history... but none of them are ours.

Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.

Let's admit, without apology, what we do to each other.

Someone once told me that explaining is an admission of failure. I'm sure you remember, I was on the phone with you, sweetheart.

I'm saying your name in the grocery store, I'm saying your name on the bridge at dawn. Your name like an animal covered with frost, your name like a music that's been transposed, a suit of fur, a coat of mud, a kick in the pants, a lungful of glass, the sails in wind and the slap of waves on the hull...

There is an empty space next to you in the backseat of the station wagon. Make it the shape of everything you need. Now say hello.

I take off my hands and I give them to you but you don't want them, so I take them back and put them on the wrong way, the wrong wrists.

You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room.

If the dead are watching, I want them to see us writing, dancing, singing, painting. I want them to see that we still reach out to each other.

In the dream I don't tell anyone, you put your head in my lap.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.

You're going to die in your best friend's arms. And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, you've memorized it, it's all you know. I say the phrases that keep it all going, and everybody plays along.

I've been in your body, baby, and it was paradise. I've been in your body and it was a carnival ride.

I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.

Makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars.

The boy's no good. The boy is just no good. / but he takes you in his arms and pushes your flesh around to see if you could ever be ugly to him.

I'm sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

Love on the water, love underwater, love, love and so on.

Oh, the body—its hungers, needs, and limitations. You look at somebody and you realize that they're in there, inside there, somewhere, and how will you ever reach them, understand them?