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I never went to Albuquerque expecting to find love. I thought it had found me there, followed me home. I never came home expecting to lose love in the space of one brief telephone call. Is it always so short-lived?

Ellen Hopkins

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Ellen Hopkins
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: March 26
Novelist
Writer
Long Beach
California
Ellen Louise Hopkins
Home
Lose
Albuquerque
Find
Loses
Telephone
Always
Went
Telephones
Never
Came
Brief
Love
Call
Followed
Space
Expecting
Found
Lived
Thought
Short

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Communication Was never big in my house. We sat together over dinner, but the only sound you'd hear was crunching and chewing and the little ones asking for more, please. We lived, all boxed up in invisible containers. We hardly knew the people we called sister or father. Jackie and I were the exceptions to that rule.
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Afraid to Die Loveless Because I think if you die without knowing love in this life, that's how you'll spend eternity. Alone. Frozen.
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Whatever has happened in someone's past, the future is theirs to shape. The first step is to find a way out.
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The Screaming flashed me back to a time when mom and dad were still together if you could call miles apart together.
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Authors have to write for their characters, for who they are, that's the strength of books. Don't worry about censors. Just write the story you need to tell and the rewards will come.
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Don't Stop ...down, ...Down there ...down where ...monsters, ...Run!
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No way to get away. No way to get away. Little change to sneak away... insanity.
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I write poetry anyway and have for years and years. For me, putting fiction and poetry together is like the best of both worlds.
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I want to open myself, let him inside. But how do I give what has already been taken?
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Clear. Cold. Empty. Like how I feel right now. Love is strange. One minute you’re jungle fever. The next you’re Artic winter.
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She's no longer afraid to die. What she's afraid of is living, accepting the status quo.
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Grown up? Me? I suppose I have. Killing things, and almost killing myself, must have changed me some, after all.
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I know I can't stay here forever
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But death doesn't scare me. To know exactly when I might expect it, up close and in my face, would actually be a comfort. Because to tell the truth, most of the time dying seems pretty much like my only means of escape.
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I don't love him, & he definitely doesn't love me. Still, he semi-fills a gaping black hole inside me. That place wants love, maybe even needs love, but love is something Im pretty sure doesn't exist.
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Have to Find ...life ...is ...a— ...gamble ...after ...all.
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Funny how when your life is mostly bullshit, you turn off feeling. Sometimes it's hard to turn it back on again.
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It's just so hard to feel good, you know?
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Nonfiction speaks to the head. Fiction speaks to the heart. Poetry speaks to the soul. It's the essence of beauty. The essence of pain. It pleases the eye and the ear.
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Yeah, I know getting high isn't so smart. Ask me if I care.
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