Every human encounter is a singular occasion that can, and will, never recur again exactly.

The heart is something fierce.

Ferocious, even.

We are backwards and we are forewards and I think this time I have to snip the cord.

I would rather be alone and have a solid justification for loneliness that I feel than to be in a situation in which I should feel connected and do not.

With luck, with a strength I am not sure I possess, I will turn into a brick, like you. I will not allow myself to soften, to reconsider, or to concede to being disappointed.

If you write 3.14 on a piece of paper and hold it in a mirror, it will say pie.

Whoa. My mind is blown.

What if I said the meaning of life and the meaning of love are identical?

Just when I was starting to believe that I had reached the plateau age of life (that is, when you find that you can converse comfortably with the middle aged about your common woes, i.e. relationships, ill health and taxes), I find myself thrust back into the realization that I am still a kid; that I am still making mistakes, that my life goals are still transitive, that I am still falling in and out of love, that my personality is still malleable, that my desires are still impractical, that my friends are still standing with their feet firmly planted on the uneven ground of growing up.

and thank God.

I guess, like you said, I never quite learned my lesson about bricks and glass houses.

In honor of your engagement, I vow to no longer reflect on our relationship with emotion, and to allow the following things to lose any meaning that is correlated with you:

the History channel, coffee, the Killdares, collarbone kisses, your small apartment on the east side, aloha pineapples from jamba, winter hats, Californication, four leaf clovers, typewriters, cuffed jeans, population ecology, hummus and pretzels, Kurt Vonnegut (thank god you never liked Buk.), World of Warcraft, white wine, scarves of every color, Border's, Miles Davis, big spoon/little spoon, sing-a-longs at Alamo, and walking hand-in-hand.

Remember when you used to go out every night and you felt like you knew everyone? Now you think about people you used to hug comfortably and wonder if they remember your name. It's the thing about bowing out; the world just keeps going. By nature, things gravitate from areas of high occupancy to areas of low; the space you leave will inevitably be filled.

I hate when my eyes are finally opened to an opportunity,
right as the door is closing on it.

Off-kilter is the finest way to describe how I feel as of late, staring out the window anxious for the winter weather to break.