I’ve met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, “Why?” Why did I cause so much pain? Didn’t I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness? Can’t I see how we’re all manifestations of love? I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God’s got this all wrong. We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens. And God says, “No, that’s not right.” Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can’t teach God anything.
"I feel like men are more romantic than women. When we get married we marry, like, one girl, cause we’re resistant the whole way until we meet one girl and we think I’d be an idiot if I didn’t marry this girl, she’s so great. But it seems like girls get to a place where they just kinda pick the best option… ‘Oh he’s got a good job.’ I mean they spend their whole life looking for Prince Charming and then they marry the guy who’s got a good job and is gonna stick around.”
Math class, spring semester of freshman year. Specifically, one day outside of math class. He said something about my septum ring….which also means he must’ve been looking up my nose cause it wasn’t exposed that day.
This is going to piss him off, but I don’t give a fuck.
01. Where did you meet your boyfriend? 02. Favorite picture of your boyfriend. 03. Favorite picture of you and your boyfriend. 04. 5 facts about your boyfriend. 05. Make a list of the things you like about your boyfriend. 06. What did you guys do the last time you hung out? 07. What was the last movie you guys saw together? 08. What do you guys do often? 09. Give your definition of love. 10. Write a letter to your boyfriend.