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Quote by Pierre Alex Jeanty

“Her heart is numb to you. Your voice is now a silent tune. Her hands can no longer hold onto things that are not hers; like your heart. There are no more last chances to speak to her heart. It's too late to breathe love into it. It knows how to repel you now.”

Quote by Pierre Alex Jeanty

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Pierre Alex Jeanty

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“In little towns, lives roll along so close to one another; loves and hates beat about, their wings almost touching. On the sidewalks along which everybody comes and goes, you must, if you walk abroad at all, at some time pass within a few inches of the man who cheated and betrayed you, or the woman you desire more than anything else in the world. Her skirt brushes against you. You say good-morning, and go on. It is a close shave. Out in the world the escapes are not so narrow.”

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“I’ve told a journal how I feel about you, Out of fear of how you’d react In the event of telling you. Through past experiences, the happiest Times I’ve had occurred when I kept them To myself. I’ve told this journal everything about you & We’ve traveled page after page In endless vacation. How we’ve experienced things we both thought We’d never experience. How the food you normally scrunch your nose up at Turned out to be some of the best things you ever tasted & how badly I wanted to be laid out on that plate. To be the reason you sit back and undo the top Button on your jeans. The reason you tell your friends to come visit, Your return trip back. I’ve told a journal how I feel about you, Out of fear of how you’d react. Once I tell you, the you that I’ve come To know and love will no longer be existent & all I’ll have is another journal entry”

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“I was not able to sleep that night. To be honest, I didn’t even try. I stood in front of my living room window, staring out at the bright lights of New York City. I don’t know how long I stood there; in fact, I didn’t see the millions of multicolored lights or the never-ending streams of headlights and taillights on the busy streets below. Instead, I saw, in my mind’s eye, the crowded high school classrooms and halls where my friends and I had shared triumphs and tragedies, where the ghosts of our past still reside. Images flickered in my mind. I saw the faces of teachers and fellow students I hadn’t seen in years. I heard snatches of songs I had rehearsed in third period chorus. I saw the library where I had spent long hours studying after school. Most of all, I saw Marty. Marty as a shy sophomore, auditioning for Mrs. Quincy, the school choir director. Marty singing her first solo at the 1981 Christmas concert. Marty at the 1982 Homecoming Dance, looking radiant after being selected as Junior Princess. Marty sitting alone in the chorus practice room on the last day of our senior year. I stared long and hard at those sepia-colored memories. And as my mind carried me back to the place I had sworn I’d never return to, I remembered.”

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