Dying is overrated. Human sentimentality has twisted it into the ultimate act of love. Biggest load of bullshit in the world. Dying for someone isn't the hard thing. The man that dies escapes. Plain and simple. Game over. End of pain...Try living for someone. Through it all-good, bad, thick, thin, joy, suffering. That's the hard thing.
Although love could grow in times of peace, it tempered in battle. Daddy told me once - when I'd said something about how perfect his relationship with Mom was - that I should have seen the first five years of their marriage, that they'd fought like hellions, crashed into each other like two giant stones. That eventually they'd eroded each other into the perfect fit, become a single wall, nestled into each other's curves and hollows, her strengths chinking his weaknesses, her weaknesses reinforced by his strengths.
I scream for everything that has gone wrong. I scream for everything broken in our lives.
I never thought of it like that. I always thought of you as a part of me, like my own eyes or my own hands. You don't go around thinking 'I love my eyes, I love my hands', do you? But think what it would be like to live without your eyes or your hands. To be mad, or to be blind. I can't talk about it. It's how I feel.
Do you know, sire, I think that if we live to tell our grandchildren about this war, they will accuse us of making it up.' -Marielle
And Mega has a crush on Chester." "I do not!" "Do too, Mega." "He's like, old!" "How old, Christian says." "Like at least thirty or something." Lor laughs. " Fucking ancient, ain't it, kid?" "Dude," I agree. I like Lor.
He is beauty, inside and out. He is the silver lining in a world of darkness. He is my light.
It's just that in the Deep South, women learn at a young age that when the world is falling apart around you, it's time to take down the drapes and make a new dress.
Was he a good kisser, Ms. Lane?†Barrons asked, watching me carefully. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand at the memory. “It was like being owned.†Some women like that.†Not me.†Perhaps it depends on the man doing the owning.†I doubt it. I couldn’t breathe with him kissing me.†One day you may kiss a man you can’t breathe without, and find breath is of little consequence.†Right, and one day my prince might come.†I doubt he’ll be a prince, Ms. Lane. Men rarely are.
Day leans in toward me. He reaches up to touch my face. I can tell it still hurts him to use his fingers, and his nails are dark with dried blood. "You're brilliant," he says. "But you're a fool to stay wish someone like me." I close my eyes at the touch of his hand. "Then we're both fools.