It was one of those moments when you feel the future so much that it humbles the present.
There are all these moments you don't think you will survive. And then you survive.
There has to be a moment at the beginning when you wonder whether you’re in love with the person or in love with the feeling of love itself.
Remember that at any given moment there are a thousand things you can love.
A photograph it a souvenir of a memory. It is not a moment. It is the looking at the photograph that becomes the moment. Your own moment.
Measure the hope of that moment, that feeling. Everything else will be measured against it.
Why do we even bother? Why do we make ourselves so open to such easy damage? Is it all loneliness? Is it all fear? Or is it just to experience those narcotic moments of belonging with someone else?
I measure the moment in the heartbeats I skip
breathtaking, adj. Those moments when we kiss and surrender for an hour before we say a single word.
But death is not freedom. For a moment, it can look like freedom. But then it's death. Anything. Something. Nothing.
Moments into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into days. Days into years. Years into possibility. This will linger.
We pencil-sketch our previous life so we can contrast it to the technicolor of the moment.
But we comforted ourselves with what we really meant to say, which was: "I don't normally feel this good about what I'm doing." Measure the hope of that moment, that feeling. Everything else will be measured against it.
Maybe there's a way to keep us in this moment. Not the sad part. But the coming together part.
As if when someone close to us dies, we momentarily trade places with them, in the moment right before. And as we get over it, we’re really living their life in reverse, from death to life, from sickness to health.