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Sometimes you build up these walls, you build and you build and you build up these walls and you think they’re so strong, but then someone can come along and tip them over with only his fingers, or the weight of his breath.

Deb Caletti

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Deb Caletti
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: June 16
Novelist
Writer
San Rafael
California
Come
Breaths
Sometimes
Fingers
Think
Weight
Thinking
Build
Along
Wall
Strong
Walls
Someone
Breath

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Most of our parents wanted the best for us, I knew, but we also wanted the best for them.
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I don't get why prom is like a mini-wedding these days...No one should spend that kind of money for a high school dance.
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I put the guitar back in the case. I can't even look at it anymore. Instead, I want to make brownies. I want an end result there's a recipe for. I want to combine eggs and water and oil and chocolate and flour and sugar and vanilla and get something fulfilling.
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Fear was the biggest bullshitter, he’d said. But sometimes, too, fear told the truth.
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Because words were hills and valleys you traveled, so lovely sometimes that they hurt your eyes.
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No, Mom. I said fine. It's just your tone. Ah, yes- the tone. The nasty traitor.
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It was possible, maybe, to have facts in your mind that weren't facts at all. You could build a whole life's story on false assumptions. You could make truths out of untruths and untruths out of truths. Until you spoke them, really said them out loud or checked for sure, you may not have known which were which.
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Fate is a shape-shifter. It is the kindest and most generous entity imaginable, laying out more goodness than a person deserves, and then it shrinks and curls and forms into something grotesque. You think something is one thing, but then it´s another.
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...wanting things for the wrong reasons can turn anyone's life into a marshmallow on a stick over a hot fire: impossibly messy and eventually consumed, one way or another.
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A person could leave you so quickly. So much history and time and memories, but they snuck away from you, and other things took their place. How could you hold on? Wait. A bigger question. The biggest. How could you hold on and let go?
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I was a book lover from the beginning. I loved, love, words and images and ideas, the ways a book can make you feel things deeply or help you understand something you never even knew there were words for.
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I felt a constant, low-flying desperation, the kind you feel when you are trying, trying, trying to get something you will never, ever get.
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Love seems to be something to approach with caution, as if you'd come across a wrapped box in the middle of the street and have no idea what it contains.
Deb Caletti
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I vow... to not let the back & forth of forgiveness interrupt the steadiness of love.
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This is just one of those annoying and unjust differences between you and your younger sibling...I was probably fifteen before I could go to a friend's house without giving mom an FBI dossier on the people Bex can practically hitchhike on the freeway with a mere Have fun, honey.
Deb Caletti
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I didn't walk over and talk to him, though, not then. If I needed the time for a tree branch to become just a tree branch again and the wind to become just the wind, then a boy, most of all, needed some time to be only a boy.
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We should not give away a moment to anyone who does not deserve it.
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Hurt is a weapon. Better weapon than most because it doesn't look like one.
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But an apology too — you think you’re giving something, but you’re not. You’re really asking for something. You’re asking for forgiveness, you’re asking for the other injured person to make it okay for you. Apologies were harder work for the person getting one than the person giving one.
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The favorite game of temperamental people is Try to Guess Why I’m Ticked Off. (Contestant number one, Why do YOU think he’s pissed off? Why, I’m not sure, Bob, but I’m going to go with ‘Because I Left the Faucet Dripping.’ BEEP. I’m sorry, that’s incorrect. The correct answer is: ‘Because You Happen to Exist.’)
Deb Caletti