Hanging out with you has made me weird, J. All I do is sit around thinking about my feelings these days. Thanks for that.
I will give no one the satisfaction of my death.
He’s a hot bath, a short breath, five days of summer pressed into five fingers writing stories on my body.
He looks up, so slowly, gold lashes lifting to reveal more sadness and beauty that I’ve ever seen in the same moment. I didn’t know a person could convey so much with just one look. There’s extraordinary pain in him. Extraordinary passion.
I have an extremely low threshold for disorder; it offends my very being.
I’ve finally gotten to a point in my life where I’m not afraid to speak. Where my shadow no longer haunts me. And I don’t want to lose that freedom – not again. I can’t go backward. I’d rather be shot dead screaming for justice than die alone in a prison of my own making.
You’re a coward,” he whispers. “You want to be with me and it terrifies you. And you’re ashamed,” he says. “Ashamed you could ever want someone like me. Aren’t you?
I peek up at his features, at the crooked grin i want to savor, at the color in his eyes i’d use to paint a million pictures.
If you hide your heart, he will never be able to take it from you.
Warner’s head is on my lap. His face is smooth and calm and peaceful in a way I’ve never seen it and I almost reach out to stroke his hair before I remember exactly how awkward this actually is.
There will be a bird today. It will be white with streaks of gold like a crown atop its head. It will fly.
He looks away. And he smiles. Its the kind of smile that makes me forget how to do everything but blink and blink and I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I don’t know why I cant convince my eyes to find something else to focus on. I don’t know why my heart is losing its mind.
Twice. Once for Adam. Once for Warner.
My father couldn’t warm my frozen hands.
I am no longer afraid of fear, and I will not let it rule me. Fear will learn to fear me.
He’s standing right in front of me and I miss him like I haven’t seen him in years.
Ah, Ms. Ferrars. I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by sitting in the corner.
Because when I said I wanted to touch the moon you took my hand, held me close, and taught me how to fly.
I hate the lackadaisical ennui of a sun too preoccupied with itself to notice the infinite hours we spend in its presence.
Laughter comes from living.