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Words were different when they lived inside of you.
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Letting someone touch you in the place where it hurts the most, if I could do that, if I could just do that, well, that would mean I was alive.
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There was something about the sound of a man in pain that resembled the sound of a wounded animal.
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People were wired to hell. He wanted to growl like a rabid mastiff when he heard someone say, "The body is a machine." What asshole thought of that? Screwed up and angry and wanting love, fucking desperate to get it and not knowing how to get it, and willing to do anything just to get a taste of it. Or worse, striking out because you couldn't get it-all that love you wanted. The body was not a machine. Machines and computers, he could deal with. There was always a solution for the problem. What was the solution for him?
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. . . Alive is a place. Alive is the new word for home.
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Water was something he loved, something he respected. He understood its beauty and its dangers. He talked about swimming as if it were a way of life.
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If there’s no heaven, I don’t really care. Maybe people are heaven, Dad. Some people, anyway. You and Sam and Fito. Maybe you’re all heaven. Maybe everyone’s heaven, and we just don’t know it.
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Maybe this will be the summer when there is nothing but laughter. Maybe this will be the summer.
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Sam, she was smart as hell. And she knew stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. She also felt stuff. Oh, man, could Sam feel. Sometimes I thought she was doing all the thinking, all the feeling, and all the living for both of us.
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It was good to laugh. I wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh until I laughed myself into becoming someone else. The really great thing about laughing was that it made me forget about the strange and awful feeling in my legs. Even if it was only for a minute.
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I wondered how that felt, to really like yourself. And I wondered why some people didn't like themselves and others did. Maybe that's just the way it was.
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I was in love with the innocence of dogs, the purity of their affection. They didn't know enough to hide their feelings. They existed. A dog was a dog. There was such a simple elegance about being a dog that I envied.
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Maybe I’d always had the wrong idea as to who I really was.
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Maybe the problem between me and my father was that we were both the same.
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I realized that Sam wasn’t angry at all. She was hurt. At that moment I heard all the hurt she’d ever held. And it seemed to me that the whole house had quieted down to listen to her pain.
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He was on fire, she could almost touch the rage. He could scare people. He could make anyone afraid, if he wanted to.
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She looked into my eyes. I wanted to look away. But I didn't. Her eyes were like the night sky in the desert. It felt like there was a whole world living inside her. I didn't know anything about that world.
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You should just sit them down and make them tell you. Make them be adults.
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Two guys without a life? How much fun could that be?
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People have parties because they’re sad. They think a party will make them happy.
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No one can run from a storm.
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He didn’t know anyone could cry like that. A wind was coming from inside her.
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It was as if she was becoming the light.
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Maybe that wasn't logical, but maybe the thing we call logic is overrated.