No one belongs here more than you: stories

Life is easy. What I meant was, Life is easy with you here, and when you leave, it will be hard again.

. If he saw me, I would live. Look up, look up, look up. He raised his eyes, as if it were his own idea, and I waved.

What happens when you stop wanting, when you are happy.

My book was a long glove clasping the dark shape I had loved.

There was a horrible longing inside this love.

doesn’t really feel like driving when you don’t know where you’re going.

There was a city, and in that city, there was a beauty salon. I took off my shoes and got under the covers. I whispered, Shut your eyes, and I shut my eyes and pretended it was night and that the world was all around me, sleeping

Nothing really mattered, and nothing could be lost.

Each morning Pip made a list of what we needed to do that day. At the top of the list was usually go to bank, where they had free coffee. The next items were often vague—find out about food stamps, library card?—but the list still gave me a cozy feeling. I liked to watch her write it, knowing that someone was steering the day. At night we discussed how we would decorate the basement, but during the day our progress was slow

I had written the same word seven thousand times attempting to alchemize time.