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On rare occasions, you come across someone who just gets you, and you don’t have to figure out your place. Wherever you are is okay.
Grief is its own kind of intimacy, a bond of sorts between you and the one you lost. No one else feels it the way you do about that person you loved most.
I break our stride, look down at her, and cup one side of her face in my hand. It’s cool against the dry warmth of my palm. “Ask me how many times I’ve thought about you since that protest.”
If a kiss has a color, this one is the muted shades of the sky overhead, a ménage à trois of midnight and indigo and moonshine silver. If a kiss has a sound, this one is the concert of our breaths and sighs and moans. If a kiss has a taste, it tastes like this. Hunger flavored with yearning and spiced with desperation.
want it, too. I’m a girl who knows what she wants.” “I thought you were the girl who chases stars.” “What do you think I’m doing right now?”
“We get whatever the fuck we want,” he says, dropping his eyes down the length of my body. “And I want you, Lennix Moon. I want the girl who chases stars.”
“Dissent is the highest form of patriotism,” I quote. “I love this country too much to settle for the lies written in our history books. I love the Constitution too much not to hold the men who wrote it accountable for the truth of its principles.”
“Screw that,” he says, leaning forward to mutter against my lips. “It may not be midnight, but it’s about damn time.”
