I told Seven the bartender that true love is felonious.
”Not if they’re over eighteen,” he said, shutting the till of the cash register.
By then the bar had become an appendage, a second torso holding up my fist. “You take someone’s breath away,” I stressed. “You rob them of the ability to utter a single word.” I tipped the neck of the empty liquor bottle toward him. “You steal a heart.”
”Sounds like a misdemeanor to me”
”No way,” I said. “Once you’re in, it’s for life.”

-- My Sister's Keeper

So. I'm setting goals for this, for myself. Because there's a purpose behind everything. The one behind this is that I can't confine myself to tumblr and it's kind of lost its magic for me. I still need somewhere to write, though. Though all of this, really, is contradictory because I really do feel the most at home with pen, on paper. Go figure. But I'm here. To write. And maybe share some pretty things but not overload. Thoughts, opinions, life. First.
1. I am going to properly capitalize. Maybe all my sentences won't be gramatically correct, but I'll try.
2. I am not going to be pretentious-sounding intentionally. I circumlocute sometimes and i realize that's probably annoying. Straight up words with commas, nothing that I'm not, stylistically.
3. I am going to experiment with my writing. Switch up my sentence variety a bit. I've gotten so used to hiding behind my sweeping long sentences where things just tend to get lost, commas sprinkled in throughout--too many, of course-- to the point where i don't know what I'm talking about any longer and I don't expect you to follow me in this nonsense.
That previous sentence would be an example of sorts.
4. I will refrain from summarizing. There are other ways and life is a lot more interesting analyzed.
5. I am Chinese and superstitious and can't have 4 things on a list. So, just throwing this out there. At the same time, insight.
I kind of wish I started like, trying to write intensely earlier. Maybe this will become a chore. I remember when I didn't even like writing. Maybe this will die out, maybe it will flourish. But for now, I'm tired and I've posted a lot.

If anyone even reads this. Few hours, don't expect much.

“I sent Linden back to New Zealand. Green card ran out. It was either that, or get married.”
“What was wrong with her?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Seven confessed. “SHe cleaned like a banshee, never let me wash a dish. She listened to everything I had to say, she was a hurricane in bed. She was absolutly crazy about me, and believe it or not, I was the one for her. It was like, ninety eight percent perfect.”
“What about the other two percent?”
“You tell me. Something was missing. I couldn’t tell you what it was, if you asked, but it was off. And if you think of a relationship as a living entity, I guess it’s one thing if the missing two percent is like, a fingernail. But when it’s the heart, that’s a whole different ball of was.” He turned to me. “I didn’t cry when she got on the plane. She lived with me for four years, and when she walked away, I didn’t feel much of anythign at all.”
“Well, I had the other problem. I had the heart of the relationship, and no body to grow it in.”
“What happened then?”
“What else? It broke.”

-- My Sister's Keeper