The sullen boy sitting before me is not my husband, and the girl he is fretting over isn't me, will never be me.
I don't dare touch her. Loss is a knowledge I'm sorry to have. Perhaps the only thing worse than experiencing it, is watching it replay anew in someone else--all the awful stages picking up like a chorus that has to be sung.
It's never right to give up on someone.
My head is my favorite swimming pool.
There is no choice for him but to believe. He has nothing left to give in offering.
There's a hazy smile on her lips that won't go away, and her hair is a mess. It's like a brushfire filled with casualties.
A strange thing, words. Once they're said, it's hard to imagine they're untrue.
For males twenty-five is the fatal age. For women it's twenty. We are all dropping like flies.
When I was 11 or 12, I was really bored with everything on my summer reading list. It was all happy, middle-grade kinds of books. I was getting frustrated, because I liked to read. My mother went to the library and got me a copy of 'The Other Side of Midnight' by Sidney Sheldon. It was my first adult book.
It's the silence I imagine in the rest of the world, the silence of an endless ocean and uninhabitable island, a silence that can be seen from space.
Love is not enough to keep any of us alive.
He gathers me up and I'm weightless before he sets me on the railing. He's the only thing keeping me from falling back, out of the reach of daylight. I'm not afraid of falling. I don't fear the sky beyond the train tracks like I did before. I can go anywhere just so long as it's with him.
Real’ is a dirty word in this place.
Fate, I think, is a thief.
The only characters I ever don't like are ones that leave no impression on me. And I don't write characters that leave no impression on me.
who once had dreams of saving the world, now laughs at anyone who tries.
I shake my head, watching snow tumble and swirl from an all-white sky. The world seems so clean if you only look up
She smiles at our husband as she moves, and he blushes, overcome by her beauty. But I know what her smile really means...Her smile is her revenge.
I wonder if she has figured out that I'll never love Linden, especially not in the way she does, and that he'll never love anyone the way he loves her. I wonder if she realizes, despite all her efforts to train me, that I can never take her place.
There's nothing here to say good-bye to. There's no dancing girl. No mischievous smile. She's gone, off with her sisters, broken free, escaped. And if she were here now, she would say, "Go.
The world seems so clean if you only looked up.
Times like this, when she slips her hand into mine and holds on tight, and our husband becomes just a shadow in the doorway.
My sisters were in that van.
So how long do you think it’ll be?” he says. “Before the next hurricane comes along to take you home.” “Can I tell you my biggest fear?” I say. “Yes. Tell me.” “That it will be a very windless four years.
Tell me about yourself." "Myself?" He looks confused. "Yes," I say, patting the mattress. "You know all there is to know," he says, sitting beside me. "Not true," I say. "Where were you born? What's your favourite season? Anything." "Here. Florida," he says. "I remember a woman in a red dress with curly brown hair. Maybe she was my mother, I'm not sure. And summer. What about you?" The last part is said with a smile. He smiles so infrequently that I consider each one a trophy.
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