I’m awake, I guess, and maybe that’s good, but it’s more complicated than that because now I’m someone who knows the worst thing can happen at any time.
How can love be such a wrecking ball?
As the days pass, Paige Walker’s love of lilacs and ability to boil water have the singular effect of washing sixteen years of myth right off of her.
I was crashed un 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″.
I’m standing on my own head!
We haven’t talked in five months and we both look like different people, but it’s the same, same, same.
Maybe you stomped it to nothing and now he’s hollow and empty, a shell with no turtle inside.
But I’m his son, his gargantuan son. I’m a whirling, ass-kicking Goliath, a typhoon wrapped in skin, and then I’m writhing and thrashing and trying to break free and they’re wrestling me back down, laughing and saying things like “what a crazy mother.
This is why no one hardly notices that Jude does most of the talking for both of us, why we can only play piano with all four of our hands on the keyboard and not at all alone, why we can never do Rochambeau because not once in thirteen years have we chosen differently. It’s always: two rocks, two papers, two scissors. When I don’t draw us like this, I draw us as half-people. The.
A sorrowing heart poisons recipes.
Except don’t you need to be claimed to be a daughter? Don’t you need to be loved?
Love is stronger than anything, even death.
As I make my way back to the table, something becomes clear: life’s a freaking mess. In fact, I’m going to tell Sarah we need to start a new philosophical movement: messessentialism instead of existentialism: for those who revel in the essential mess that is life. Because Gram’s right, there’s not one truth ever, just a whole bunch of stories, all going on at once, in our heads, in our hearts, all getting in the way of each other. It’s all a beautiful calamitous mess.
How is it possible that something can seem like such a brilliant idea one day and such a bonehead one the next?
I miss you, I tell her, I can’t stand that you’re going to miss so much. I don’t know how the heart withstands it.
Lots of questions go unanswered.
I think you could devastate me.
His eyes warm at that- it kills me. What are we going to do with all this love?
She’d said not to feel like we had to copy exactly. I didn’t copy at all. I shook up the originals in my head and let them out all covered in me.
Plus, now that color has refastened itself to everything, it’s supernaturally amazing to be in the trees.