It’s goodbye to some things. And hello to others.
I learn about the highs and lows of living with the same mother for your entire life, about how no one can make you angrier, but how you can’t really love anyone more.
And just like that, the universe goes wrong. Just like that, all the enormity seems to shrink into a ball and float away from my reach. I feel it, and she doesn’t. Or I feel it, and she won’t.
There is no word for the recipient of the love. There is only a word for the giver. There is the assumption that lovers come in pairs.
I still don’t know if this is a good quality or a bad one, to be able to be in the moment and then step out of it.
It was so much easier when I didn’t want anything. Not getting what you want can make you cruel.
If I lose it now, I will lose you, too. I know that. I hate it.
This is what my voice sounds like I don’t need to be talking to someone else To hear it.
I will be the one to leave you.
But I had a feeling I wasn’t supposed to find her that way. She was not a needle. This was not a haystack. We were people, and people had ways of finding each other.
I still felt fondness for her – fondness, that pleasant, detached mix of admiration and sentiment, appreciation and nostalgia.
I preferred to hang out with the dead, dying, or desperate books – used we call them, in a way that we’d never call a person, unless we meant it cruelly.
School is school-she wants it to be over, but she’s afraid of it being over, because then she’ll have to figure out what comes next.
The ocean makes its music; the wind does its dance. We hold on. At first we hold on to one another, but then it starts to feel like we are holding on to something even bigger than that. Greater.
It is not desire. Instead it is something deeper. I don’t want to be with him constantly and forever. I want to be with him for the moment, and I want the moments to go on forever.
I know from experience that beneath every peripheral girl is a central truth. She’s hiding hers away, but at the same time she wants me to see it.
It won’t be a normal life-I know that. But it will be a life. A life together.
Because when something happens, she’s the person I want to tell. The most basic indicator of love.
I only have eyes for you.
I can see that the sadness has returned. And it’s not a beautiful sadness- beautiful sadness is a myth. Sadness turns our features to clay, not porcelain.