Before We Were Strangers

The present is our own. The right-this-second, the here-and-now, this moment before the next, is ours for the taking. It’s the only free gift the universe has to offer. The past doesn’t belong to us anymore, and the future is just a fantasy, never guaranteed. But the present is ours to own. The only way we can realize that fantasy is if we embrace the now.

You can’t re-create the first time you promise to love someone or the first time you feel loved by another. You cannot relive the sensation of fear, admiration, self-­consciousness, passion, and desire all mixed into one because it never happens twice. You chase it like the first high for the rest of your life. It doesn’t mean you can’t love another or move on; it just means that the one spontaneous moment, the split second that you took the leap, when your heart was racing and your mind was muddled with What ifs?—that moment—will never happen the same way again. It will never feel as intense as the first time. At least, that’s the way I remember it. That’s why my mother always said we memorialize our past. Everything seems better in a memory.

And in that moment, you realize how little control you have over your own destiny. From the time you're born, you have no control; you can't choose your parents, and, unless you're suicidal, you can't choose your death. The only thing you can do is choose the person you love, be kind to others, and make your brutally short stint on earth as pleasant as possible.

Everything seems better in a memory.

It was like the universe was teasing us; we saw each other just a second too late.

Once there was you and me We were lovers We were friends Before life changed Before we were strangers Do you still think of me?

Poetry is just evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.

Maybe that’s what growing up was really all about. Adults always say how complicated life gets as we age, but really, I think we just look for bigger challenges to overcome. Our biggest fears stretch from sleeping without our beloved teddy bear to finding out that we have no purpose in life. Did time, maturity, and overcoming obstacles offer the kind of contentment so evident in Orvin? Or did we just simply give up and surrender to the life we were already living?

We were victims of bad timing. But here we are again.

Weren’t we though? Timeless? Nothing could change what we’d had all those years before, even if the idea of what might’ve been lingered between us.

You have to learn to fly before you can soar.

You can’t re-create the first time you promise to love someone or the first time you feel loved by another. You cannot relive the sensation of fear, admiration, self-consciousness, passion, and desire all mixed into one because it never happens twice. You chase it like the first high for the rest of your life.

The present is our own. The right-this-second, the here-and-now, this moment before the next, is ours for the taking. It’s the only free gift the universe has to offer.

I felt it for Grace before I even had a name for it. I might have said the word a million times, but it sounded different now that I meant it. When I thought about what we had, it didn’t matter that it was just friendship. I loved her.

Like nothing else in life, sex is perfectly selfless and selfish all at once. Hot and cold, yin and yang, black and white, and all of the shades in between.

You were always with me, Grace. I never found a way to let you go.

We memorialize our past. Everything seems better in a memory.

From the time you’re born, you have no control; you can’t choose your parents, and, unless you’re suicidal, you can’t choose your death. The only thing you can do is choose the person you love, be kind to others, and make your brutally short stint on earth as pleasant as possible.

Isn’t there a word for friends that mess around?” “Yeah, it’s called girlfriend and boyfriend.

I was static, standing on the platform, watching train after train go by, wishing I knew which one to be on.

And then his lips were on mine and we were in it, pulling away from the past and rushing fast into the future.

Life was passing me by at high speed as I sat back with my feet up, rejecting change, ignoring the world, shrugging off anything that threatened to have meaning of relevance.

Fifteen years is too long to be holding on to a few heart-pounding moments from college.

That’s why my mother always said we memorialize our past. Everything seems better in a memory.

Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.’

Thank you.” Isn’t that all we need to hear sometimes—that you’re a good mom or friend or daughter or wife?

I’m really into girls with big platelets.

Isn’t that all we need to hear sometimes—that you’re a good mom or friend or daughter or wife?