Marisa Crane

The thing is, she’s got heart, a colossal, mesmerizing one. She gives me a green flash love, the type you are rarely lucky enough to see but when you do, your entire sky is changed forever.

This is not new territory. Stop lights like lullabies write my eulogy.

I have imprinted on you and all those miles between us only keep us apart because we let them.

I dressed the part and slipped into my Sunday best. I peeled open the heavy doors to every church I could find.

I lie and tell you I had a dream about you last night, so it makes it more socially acceptable to reach out to someone I haven’t spoken to in years.

We’re so infatuated with studying labels that we forget to read between the lines of one another.

Our life before moving to Washington was filled with simple joys. Saturdays at soccer games, Sundays at Grandma’s house. And a date night for Barack and me was either dinner or a movie, because as an exhausted mom, I couldn’t stay awake for both. He was still the guy who’d picked me up for our dates in a car that was so rusted out, I could actually see the pavement going by through a hole in the passenger-side door.

Thinking calls for facts; facts are found by digging; but he who has gathered this wealth is well equipped for life.

You philosophers are lucky men. You write on paper and paper is patient. Unfortunate Empress that I am, I write on the susceptible skins of living beings.

Since the past is unreal and the future is unreal, all your thoughts are about nothing.

The little I know I owe to my ignorance.

When I hear somebody sigh, ‘Life is hard,’ I am always tempted to ask, ‘Compared to what?

The truth is, I think we are a self-less society, not a selfish society. Because we’re so busy now.

He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.

I think us bad b*tc*es is a gift from God.

If the world comes to an end, I want to be in Cincinnati. Everything comes there ten years later.

Roaming through the jungle of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’, searching for a more agreeable noise, I live a life of primitivity with the mind of a child and an unquenchable thirst for sharps and flats.

You cannot be who and what you are unless you have a lifestyle, both internally and externally, that is designed to support that definition of self.

I remember thinking during those times that I wanted to write in a way where there are no rules.

If a dog jumps in your lap, it is because he is fond of you; but if a cat does the same thing, it is because your lap is warmer.

Grief never mended no broken bones.