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And I'm moved, it's so beautiful. Not what I wrote, but to have it given back like this. To have her remember the words and the tune. To hear it in her voice.

David Levithan

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David Levithan
Age: 52
Born: 1972
Born: September 7
Author
Novelist
Writer
Short Hills
New Jersey
Beautiful
Tune
Remember
Tunes
Back
Wrote
Like
Moved
Hear
Voice
Words
Given

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I barely notice colors unless I taste them. Not the yellows or the greens. I taste the deeper blues. The darker reds.
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You like him because he's a lost boy. Believe me, I've seen it happen before. But do you know what happens to girls who love lost boys? They become lost themselves. Without fail.
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Two infinities: the one that stretches to the beginning but never touches-when you halve and halve and halve, infinitely-and then the one that spreads out into the endless, endless future, the endless, endless, distance.The set of infinities that is itself infinite.
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I asked you what you wanted and you said you didn't want anything. And I told you I wasn't planning on giving you anything I was planning on giving you something.
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I don't get this at all. It's like protesting the fact that some people are red-haired.
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When is a night over? Is it the start of sunrise or the end of it? Is it when you finally go to sleep or simply realize that you have to? When the club closes or when you everyone leaves? It's over when you decide it's over, she says. When you call it a night. The rest is just a matter of where the sun is in the sky.
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Let’s make plans,” I ventured. And Sofia smiled and said, “No, let’s leave it to chance.
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I don’t want to throw everything away for something uncertain.
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Her vulnerability is open, but she’s safe within it.
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That's what it felt like - that if I let a little of the hurt out, it would keep pouring out until I was a deflated balloon of a person, with a big monster of hurt in front of me.
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The tenderness between two people can turn the air tender, the room tender, time itself tender. As I step out of bed and slip on an oversize shirt, everything around me feels like it's the temperature of happiness.
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the world loves stupid labels. i wish we got to choose our own.
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They don’t have silences together they have noise. Mostly his.
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