“I swear that when our lips touch, I can taste the next 60 years of my life.” --

"I want to be your ex-boyfriend’s stunt man. I want to do everything that he never had the courage to do like… trust you." --

"You can be 'At Last,' my Etta James, I’ll be 'Oh Child' when you’re in pain, or you could be candy coated drops of rain, even though it never rains in Southern California. And together, we could be music. And when my friends ask if you’re my girlfriend. I’ll say no. She is my musician. And me… I’m her favorite song." --

"Loving you was the last thing I felt really good at." --

"I hope your next boyfriend gets smallpox." --

"If I could I would tie your arms to a daydream and then auction you off to my fondest memories." --

"There is nothing logical about cutting off the most important parts of yourself then putting them inside hands that shake, that tremble, that crack like a Haitian sidewalk." --

"Cupid is irresponsible, and I’m tired of him using me for target practice." --

"I want you to bite my lip until I can no longer speak, and then suck my ex-girlfriend’s name out of my mouth just to make sure she never comes up in our conversations." --

"There is nothing rational about love. Love stutters when it gets nervous, love trips over its own shoelaces. Love is clumsy, and my heart refuses wear a helmet." --

"When God made you, he cussed for the first time. He turned to an angel, gave him a high five, and said ‘God damn, I’m good.’" --

And last but not least...

"I’ve been trying to take the right steps, for what seems to me, to be thousands of years but something always seems to go wrong, between us. We lived in Egypt and I was the Pharaoh slave, you were his daughter. Love that you lead to my death that they claimed that I seduced you. And after they stole my life, I was resurrected as a Mason. I made the foundation for your house. We met eyes between for two seconds. You left and I didn’t see you again until I died. I came back as a caterpillar. I turned into a butterfly. I laid in the palm of your hands. You brushed me away. The rejection killed me. When I awoke I was a kick drum, you were a snare. We were both owned by this drummer, named Cozy Cole, and when he died, so did we. But I came back just to look for you. I left notes in random places hoping that you would stumble across them. I called our names in treason and prayed that it would jog your memory. I would spit your name in the wind, hoping somehow, maybe someway, my voice would reach you, but it didn’t, and I died. I died early. I died young with breadcrumbs, in my hand, just hoping that you would find me, but you never did, so they buried me. When they buried me, they put these coins over my eyes, and I used them as bus fair, to get back to Earth, just so I could look for you." --