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I guess I get out of bed because I think about the connection that we all have, this fragile humanity, each of us insignificant and at the same time precious. A continuation of a species that is recklessly unique. I remember that life is a finite gift, and I’d be an asshole to waste it.”
Each time a burst of laughter cut through the room, something inside him lit up like fireworks.
“All those lights”—he pointed unnecessarily—“coming and going, each one a person with a whole world inside their head. People don’t think about that enough. How everyone we pass on the street has just as much complexity, just as many aspirations and fear and failures, as we do.”
“I think I could be good at loving you,” he said, “if you let me.” Adrenaline raced under the surface of his skin, urgent and electric. “That’s a lot. It’s a big thing to say, and it’s a bigger thing to deliver. I promise that I know that, but I still want you to give me a shot.”
“Even when they fail, experiments move us closer to the truth.”
“This world is full of people who would rather hate you than examine the pain in their own hearts. They will try to limit who you can love, who you can spend time with, who you can fuck. Some of these people will act like their condemnation is in your best interest. Like one day you’ll thank them for showing you the error of your ways. Some of them feel better about their own lives when they can deny the validity of yours.”
“I promise that one day you’ll wake up and your hands will feel like they belong to you again. Some morning, you’ll look in the mirror and you won’t have to whisper, ‘You’re still alive. You’re still alive. You’re still alive.’”
“One of the best things about love, real love, is that it doesn’t demand perfection. It simply invites us to live up to our potential.”
