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Maybe he was real. Maybe I'd made him up. Either way, he didn't think I needed him anymore. Maybe he was right.

Francesca Lia Block

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Francesca Lia Block
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: January 3
Editor
Novelist
Poet
Writer
LA
California
Real
Made
Way
Anymore
Think
Needed
Thinking
Either
Maybe
Didn
Right

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You are so intense. Like a storm. It's shocking how intense you are.
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i could see the veins through your skin like a map to inside you. how could skin be that thin? i was so afraid you might drop and break. i stopped breathing so you wouldn't.
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You are my Marilyn. You are my lake full of fishes. You are my sky set, my 'Hollywood in Miniature,' my pink Cadillac, my highway, my martini, the stage for my heart to rock and roll on, the screen where my movies light up.
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Love is the worst earthquake there is. Can crush you to the thickness of your bones. Love can be like cancer sometimes. Terminal. It can make you vomit. It can make you want to cut it out. It can take you over against your will.
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We no longer believe in fairy tales. But we will learn to believe in monsters
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She had changed him. The ice was in his eyes and in his heart, like he had predicted with that song, but now they were deep embedded there, all the pain of the world. Not pain to make you feel for somebody else but pain to make you stop feeling.
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Every girl is a goddess.
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Beauty loved him more than anything, her Beast boy, but, secretly, sometimes, she wished he would have remained a Beast.
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Once upon a time . . . What time are we upon and where do I belong?
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Think of your pain like a bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one.
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It was always a relief when she came home to him. Like water or food. Like music or that moment when you cut yourself with a knife and squeeze the skin and no blood oozes out.
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Pianos, unlike people, sing when you give them your every growl. They know how to dive into the pit of your stomach and harmonize with your roars when you’ve split yourself open. And when they see you, guts shining, brain pulsing, heart right there exposed in a rhythm that beats need need, need need, need need, pianos do not run. And so she plays.
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Maybe any love we ever have is an angel in whatever form.
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When they first kiss, there on the beach, they will kneel at the edge of the Pacific and say a prayer of thanks, sending all the stories of love inside them out in a fleet of bottles all across the oceans of the world.
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Everything was chocolate ice cream and kisses and wind.
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The true warrior isn't immune to fear. She fights in spite of it.
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What sexual preference do you hope she has?” “Happiness.” Isnt that cool?
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My heart is a teacup with hairline cracks. I feel like I have to walk real carefully so it won't get shaken and just all shatter and break.
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But be careful sand is already broken but glass breaks. The shoes are for dancing, not running away.
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