Warner is still looking at me. Looking and looking and looking at me like he wants to touch me but he’s afraid to get too close.
A strange sort of resignation rises up above them all, crowning a familiar pain, a familiar fear: that joy, like dew, evaporates from my life the moment I begin to trust the sun.
I see dead dead dead red and burgundy and maroon and the richest shade of your mother’s favorite lipstick all smeared into the earth.
I’ll be right back,” Kenji shouts over his shoulder, twisting to flash us an overly enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Try not to get naked in front of everyone, okay? There are kids in here.
How many times do I have to ask you to stop falling in love with me? -Kenji.
I’m so desperately in love with you”-Juliette.
I’d finally walked away from my own pessimism, and the moment I did, life stuck a knife in my back.
I never told her what happened, because telling my mom what happened would only cause her to worry about me, which would break my vow to spare her the need to ever worry about me. I didn’t want her to worry. Not about me. Not about anyone. And yet... Even in this, I was occasionally a failure.
Something inside me hollows. Mellows out. I feel suddenly empty and sad. “I do care,” I finally say to her. “I care too much, probably.
She’s, like, batshit pretty. the kind of pretty that makes a man think getting murdered in his sleep might not be a bad way to go.
He was a man who felt too much, and his heart was so large that things got lost in it.
Telling ourselves we cant do it, that we don’t have it in us, that we shouldn’t bother trying, only makes us want to hide.
And he kisses me. His lips are softer than anything I’ve ever known, soft like a first snowfall, like biting into cotton candy, like melting and floating and being weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet. And then it changes.
I know who I am,” he says. “That’s enough for me.
If any of you hurt her I will shoot you myself,” Warner barks.
We are fed lies because believing them makes us weak, vulnerable, malleable.
Don’t torture me,” he says, meeting my eyes again. “It’s a cruel thing to do, even to someone like me.
Tomorrow the clouds would break open with a promise and a purpose.
Everything looks so different to me now,” he says. “It feels different. It tastes different. You brought me back to life.” He’s quiet a moment. “I have never known this kind of peace. Never known the kind of comfort. And sometimes I am afraid,” he says, dropping his eyes, “that my love will terrify you.
Als het erop aankomt, is voor iemand die pijn lijdt het geschenk van je tijd – en je liefde – het kostbaarst.