nathan > Recent Status Updates

I envied her, not only because I struggled to make sense of her body but because it seemed unfair that she might be a better version of me than I’d ever been.

Because the heart is a clock. It beats time. And memory wants it to give up the present.

Virginity isn't about purity. It's about choosing ignorance over knowledge.

No such thing as inconsequential sex. You do it, you'll pay for it later. Some pay with guilt. Some pay with a long hollow stare at the ceiling. Some don't realise they've got to pay until they catch the sight of their faces in the mirror.

Death changes our relation to people. Of course the relation itself lives on and goes on changing. But you must at least try to make it a good relation and not a rotten one.

omg not me finally understanding how to post updates on this thing. tune in JULY 19 (EST 7:30AM) for the Tom Lake vlog! Patchett stans rise! come hang out in the comments and chat with moi!

https://tinyurl.com/4ucfbde3

He believed himself above the love of others even as he desired their unadulterated attention.

looking for the continued protections that only college can offer: to stretch their youth taffylike further into their twenties.

I was new to using her body this way—as something to be wielded, to be desired—and I liked how it felt.

I had always hated the feeling of someone peering beneath the facade I showed to the world.

What is a body but limits?

Writing was where I went to get away from myself, whereas Elizabeth wrote to understand herself and the human condition.

I frequently accepted her fictions as truth and, often, after reading multiple drafts, would feel shame over the things the character based on me said to the character based on her.

In New Jersey, Eli smoked dusty marijuana out of a Diet Pepsi can in his kitchen. He balanced on an exercise ball while playing football video games. Bloc Party’s Silent Alarm buzzed on repeat over animated tackling sounds.

It seemed borne on a true understanding of life: Very little we ever did mattered. Our only requirement was to keep moving.

You don't exist all that much, anyway. Your breaths are numbered.

Men who are failures often disguise their castration fears as a desire to engulf everything. When you've swallowed the world there's nothing left to be frightened of. It's the pattern of the failed artist.

Maybe every other sorrow I'd known in life suddenly decided to converge on this very one.

Time makes us sentimental. Perhaps, in the end, it is because of time that we suffer.

<3

this page...always has my heart in such a chokehold..

I was thinking, instead, of Emily Bronte's words: because "he's more myself than I am."

Wish we could start all over in that room..

Was our intimacy paid for in the wrong currency?

Or is intimacy the desired product no matter where you find it, how you acquire it, what you pay for it..?

..To be who I am because of you. To be who he was because of me.

He was my conduit to myself-like a catalyst that allows us to become who we are..

"Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine," which I'd never done in my life before and which, as soon as I said my own name as though it were his, took me to a realm I never shared with anyone in my life before, or since.

..this was like coming home, like asking, Where have I been all my life? which was another way of asking, Where were in you in my childhood..?

Perhaps death just is growing old, and nobody told me?

“People who read are hiders.They hide who they are. People who hide don’t always like who they are.”

..if I could have him like this in my dreams every night of my life, I’d stake my entire life on dreams and be done with the rest.

"I'm not wise at all. I told you, I know nothing. I know books, and I know how to string words together-it doesn't mean I know how to speak about the things that matter most to me."
"But you're doing it now-in a way."
"Yes, in a way-that's how I always say thing: in a way."