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Reality is crushing. The world is a wrong-sized shoe. How can anyone stand it?

Jandy Nelson

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Jandy Nelson
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: November 25
Writer
New York City
New York
Crush
Shoes
Stand
Anyone
Wrong
Reality
Sized
World
Crushing
Shoe

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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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Our tongues have fallen madly in love and gotten married and moved to Paris.
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The Color Of Extraordinary.
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For the first time in our lives, I’m somewhere she can’t find, and I don’t have the map to give her that leads to me.
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Years ago, I was crashed in gram’s garden and Big asked me what I was doing. I told him I was looking up at the sky. He said, “That’s a misconception, Lennie, the sky is everywhere, it begins at your feet.
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Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.
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This is what I want: I want to grab my brother’s hand and run back through time, losing years like coats falling from our shoulders.
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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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... 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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When people fall in love, they burst into flames.
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But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?
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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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And then he smiles, and in all the places around the globe where it's night, day breaks.
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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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She's a sun-kissed beach girl who goes gothgrungepunkhippierockeremocoremetalfreakfashionistabraingeekboycrazyhiphoprastagirl to keep it under wraps.
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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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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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... every available inch of his face busts into a smile - whoa. Has he blown into our school on a gust of wind from another world? The guy looks unabashedly jack-o'-lantern happy, which couldn't be more foreign to the sullen demeanor most of us strove to perfect.
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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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In one split second I saw everything I could be, everything I want to be. And all that I'm not.
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