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Grief is forever. It doesn't go away it becomes part of you, step for step, breath for breath.

Jandy Nelson

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Jandy Nelson
Age: 58
Born: 1965
Born: November 25
Writer
New York City
New York
Part
Breaths
Grief
Step
Steps
Becomes
Forever
Away
Doesn
Breath

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When people fall in love, they burst into flames.
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We were all heading for each other on a collision course, no matter what. Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
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... if you're someone who knows the worst thing can happen at any time, aren't you also someone who knows the best thing can happen at any time too?
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Sometimes you think you know things, know things very deeply, only to realize you don't know a damn thing.
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That's exactly it—I am crazy sad, and somewhere deep inside, all I want is to fly.
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The guy's life drunk, I think, makes Candide look like a sourpuss. Does he even know that death exists?
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And why do English people sound smarter than the rest of us? Like they should be awarded the Nobel Prize for a simple greeting?
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This is our story to tell. You’d think for all the reading I do, I would have thought about this before, but I haven’t. I’ve never once thought about the interpretative, the story telling aspect of life, of my life. I always felt like I was in a story, yes, but not like I was the author of it, or like I had any say in its telling whatsoever.
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I wish my shadow would get up and walk beside me.
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I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes when the grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe.
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She's a sun-kissed beach girl who goes gothgrungepunkhippierockeremocoremetalfreakfashionistabraingeekboycrazyhiphoprastagirl to keep it under wraps.
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Our tongues have fallen madly in love and gotten married and moved to Paris.
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People die, I think, but your relationship with them doesn't. It continues and is ever-changing.
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When he plays all the flowers swap colors and years and decades and centuries of rain pour back into the sky
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We wish with our hands, that's what we do as artists.
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Reality is crushing. The world is a wrong-sized shoe. How can anyone stand it?
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No hot guys should be allowed to have an English accent and drive a motorcycle. Not to mention wear the leather jacket or sport the cool shades. Hot guys should be forced into footie pajamas.
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grief is a house that disappears each time someone knocks at the door or rings the bell a house that blows into the air at the slightest gust that buries itself deep in the ground while everyone is sleeping
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Meeting your soul mate is like walking into a house you've been in before - you will recognize the furniture, the pictures on the wall,the books on the shelves, the contents of drawers: You could find your way around in the dark if you had to.
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It's such a colossal effort not to be haunted by what's lost, but to be enchanted by what was.
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