I was so sure this was different, the kind of story they made movies and books about, but in the end it was just a summer to a summer, a dizzying breath of honeysuckle and whiskey and candle smoke, inhaled, held, let go.
Maybe all you need to pull you back form the ledge is to know someone would miss you if you fell.
I’m not over you. I dream about you every night. I watch that fucking video over and over just to hear your voice. Does that make you happy? Is that proof I cared?
I touched his hand, carefully. Not too intimate, but not some half-assed there-there pat, either. Would he understand? Usually the thought process for a seventeen-year-old boy went girl touching me>omg>boner.
If you think you can stand looking and not touching for eight months, you’re welcome to try.””Try’ being the operative word,” he said, sighing. “No, I can’t. And I don’t want to try.
Suicide isn’t really about death, though. It’s about change. Release.
Every time I opened my mouth, flame licked up my throat. I could have razed villages, kidnapped princesses.
We looked at each other with that resentment you feel when you want something so much it’s causing you pain, so much you start to hate it a little.
Some girls had mothers who never called them beautiful but swore their love up and down. It’s all the same, really. All bullshit.
If two people could make each other smile and laugh and forget all the pain and darkness in the world for a moment, why should we feel ashamed of it?
But every stroke of the brush, every lyric, every word whispered between human beings resulted from the pain of being alone. In our haunted heads, our imperfect bodies. Islands carved from clay and bone, our skulls like shells full of mist.
You know, rust is just oxidation. The same chemical process as fire. Oxygen interacts with steel, electrons drift from one element to the other. So really, rust is a slow fire. Isn’t that weird? Water causes something to burn.
Girls get under each other’s skin. We get too close, too attached, too crazy, and then we can’t let go. Our claws sink too deep. When we separate, we tear each other apart.
The brain is an incredible multitasker. At the same time that it’s piercing itself with superheated needles of anguish, it’s ruthlessly making plans, contingencies, plotting out a future, giving zero fucks whether it’ll ever see it.
If there’s a better definition of love than mutual benevolent insanity, I haven’t heard it.
Sometimes all you know about where you’re going is that it’s away from where you are.
But he just stared at my eyes, as if searching for a stray eyelash. A free wish.