Being in love, she concluded, is simply a presentation of our pasts to another individual, mostly packages so unwieldy that we can no longer manage the loosened strings alone.
Don’t you think I was made for you? I feel like you had me ordered – and I was delivered to you – to be worn. I want you to wear me, like a watch-charm or a buttonhole bouquet.
We grew up founding our dreams on the infinite promise of American advertising. I still believe that one can learn to play the piano by mail and that mud will give you a perfect complexion.
