The biggest problem with lies? They breed.” -Brynn.
Scratching my way through minutes that feel like years, and years that have run by me like sand, like waste. But.
She has the same pinched look as her mother did. She.
He’s furious. And something else – another expression is working beneath the anger, a look of hurt so deep it makes me want to curl up and die. It’s crazy how someone else’s pain can do that, just take the legs out from under you” -Mia.
Love obeys no laws other than its own. That’s what always made it frightening.
Her eyes are shining; she’s excited now, ready to go. For a moment, standing in the fuzzy haze of sunlight still penetrating the blinds, she appears to be glowing, as though lit up by some internal flame. And now I know why they invented words for love, why they had to: It’s the only thing that can come close to describing what I feel in that moment, the baffling mixture of pain and pleasure and fear and joy, all running sharply through me at once.
Words are like a virus – there’s no telling what kind of damage they’ll do once they’re out” -Mia.
Sometimes I feel like if you just watch things, just sit still and let the world exist in front of you – sometimes I swear that just for a second time freezes and the world pauses in its tilt.
I let the music drill through my teeth and drip out my hair and pound through my eyeballs. I taste it, like grit and sweat.
People are new everyday.
In the lower half of one wall, she has traced the word so many times in such enormous script – LOVE, each letter the size of a child – and gouged so deeply into the stone that the O has formed a tunnel, and she has gotten out.
It suddenly seems incredible to me that this was my best friend, that we could hang out for days and never run out of things to talk about, that I would come home from her house with my throat sore from laughing. It’s like there’s a glass wall between us now, invisible but impenetrable. I.
Decaf. The single worst word in the English language.
That’s what magic is, Nick,” she says, her voice soft. “It’s just faith...
Shhh.”my mother said She presses her lips to my forehead, strokes my hair, just like she used to when I was a child. I am a baby once again in her arms – helpless and needy. “I’m here now.
As if they each belonged two separate realities that only coexisted momentarily.
What was the point of trying at all, if in the end you were no better, no longer, no more real than a bathroom sink and a rust stain?
All I can think is: I need air. The rest of my thoughts are a blur of radio static and fluorescent lights and lab coats and steel tables and surgical knives.
I’ve relived that moment so often in my head, I can never be sure what really happened and what we only embellished afterward. But does it matter? We make reality our own, handle it until it is as soft as pressed butter.
I wonder if you fall forever and ever and never touch down, is it really still falling? I think I will fall forever.