Beautiful women are the torment of my existence.
When she came to write her story, she would wonder when the books and the words started to mean not just something, but everything.
Smile with instinct, then lick your wounds in the darkest of dark corners. Trace the scars back to your own fingers and remember them.
The silence was always the greates temptation.
It was a style not of perfection, but warmth. Even mistakes had a good feeling about them.
People have defining moments, i suppose, especially when they’re children.
Handfuls of frosty water can make almost anyone smile, but it cannot make them forget.
Outside is dark. The kitchen light is loud. It deafens me as I walk towards it.
When we move apart, she looks at me again, till a small tear lifts itself up in her eye. It trips out to find a wrinkle and follows it down.
If I ever leave this place- I’ll make sure I’m better HERE first.
It’s my heart that is tired. A thirteen-year-old heart shouldn’t feel like this.
The injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words.
Even enemies were an inch away from friendship.
Everything was good. But it was awful, too.
And then there’s the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can’t touch, or at lips that don’t smile at me. Or hips that don’t reach for me. And hearts that don’t beat for me.
At first, all is black and white. Black on white. That’s where I’m walking, through pages. These pages. Sometimes it gets so that I have one foot in the pages and the words, and the other in what they speak of.
My own eyes try to sleep, but they don’t. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.
It’s not so much that the old friend is a better friend. It’s just that you know the person better, and you know they don’t really care if you’re acting like a poor, grovelling idiot. They know you would do the same for them.
An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.
The water crumbles on it’s way down as my hands and feet push me forward. The world is lightening, taking shape, and turning to color. It feels like it’s being painted around me.