You set fire to my house, killed my family, and ate my dog. But steal my boyfriend? That’s a step too far.
Because ‘You’re perfect just the way you are,’ is what your guidance counselor says. And she’s an alcoholic.
I know because I read. Might I suggest you try it?
The hand you hold the longest is your own.
And when it comes, her kiss is like something not so much felt as found.
And just as I begin to believe that all is well, there is some subtle change in the light. The room takes its true shape. I fight to go back to that blissful ignorance, but it is too late. The dull pain of truth weights my soul, pulling it under. I am left hopelessly awake.
No one can live in the light all the time.
If there was one truth Evie had learned in her short life, it was that forgiveness was easier to seek than permission. She didn’t plan to ask for either one.
I’m not interested in being polite. It’s false.
The man in the shop peered disapprovingly at Evie through the glass. She pumped her arms and legs up and down in imitation of a marching band, gave the man a salute, and continued her meandering walk to the museum.
Evie didn’t mind yelling, but she hated feeling judged. It got under her skin and made her feel small and ugly and unfixable.
Reason was for suckers and Presbyterians.
The wolf was at the door. His shadow spilled into the room, taking it over.
Evie wanted to cry. From fear. From exhaustion, yes. But mostly from the cruel uselessness, the damned stupid arbitrariness of it all.
When the world moves forward too fast for some people, they try to pull us all back with their fear.
There are times when one friend requires the blind faith of another...
Clothing left on the bed unfolded. Books stained with coffee spots. Tabs not paid until the last possible second. Boys kissed and then forgotten in a week’s time.
It keeps her purity vacum-sealed to preserve its freshness for her future husband.
Naughty John, Naughty John, does his work with his apron on. Cuts your throat and takes your bones, sells ’em off for a coupla stones.
I thought research would be more glamorous, somehow. I’d give the librarian a secret code word and he’d give me the one book I needed and whisper the necessary page numbers. Like a speakeasy. With books.