He never leaves my side. And I know he never will.
Our story is over, yes, but our journey isn't, because we'll always live on the edge until the day we die.
Because this is our life. We met on the road; we grew to know and to love each other on the road. It's where we were meant to be for however long, and it's what we're going to do until it becomes clear that we're meant to do something else.
You're like a philosopher with tattoos.
When we pull away, he rests his hand on my thigh pressed next to his and we ride like that for a long time; the only time he moves his hand is to take better control of a sharp curve or to adjust the music, but he always puts it right back. And I always want him to.
I loved Ian in the now, the way he looked at me, how he made my stomach swim, how he held my hair when I was puking my guts up after eating a bad enchilada. That’s love.
But as I stood there dressed in a cute black pants suit and white button-up shirt and heels, I felt completely out of place. Not necessarily because of the clothes, but…I just don’t belong there. I can’t put my finger on it, but that Monday and the rest of that week when I woke up, got dressed and walked into that store, something was itching the back part of my consciousness. I couldn’t hear the actual words, but it felt like: This is your life, Camryn Bennett. This is your life.
I don't know myself. I don't know what I want or how I feel or how I should feeland I don't think I ever really have.
I don’t know what I’m doing, or where I’m going, but I do know that I want to do whatever it is and get there soon.
What compels any of us to do the things we do when deep down a part of us just wants to break free from it all?
Coincidence is just a safe conformist for fate.
I love the smell of Waffle House; it's the smell of freedom, being on the open road and knowing that ninety percent of the people eating around you are also on that road. Truck driver's, road-trippers, hangovers--those who don't live that monotonous life of society slavery.
It's the people y'gotta watch out for. You never know who y'might meet, or what Ol' Man Fate has in store for yah.
Parents have this twisted belief that anyone under the age of about twenty simply can’t know what love is, like the age to love is assessed in the same way the law assesses the legal age to drink. They think that the ‘emotional growth’ of a teenager’s mind is too underdeveloped to understand love, to know if it’s ‘real’ or not.
You were the missing piece of my soul, the breath in my lungs, and the blood in my veins.
I don’t want to sleep alone,” she says gently. And I don’t force her to. Sarai falls fast asleep curled up next to me in my bed. Right where I want her.
To lovers and dreamers and anyone who hasn’t truly experienced either.
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