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When you had the paintbrush in your hand, you were the god you wished ruled your life, capable of picking and choosing among fate’s catalog of wares and destiny’s deck of cards to your prolonged and sustained advantage.
now dressed in the Captain Asshole costume—which included, for no extra charge, the cape of disgrace, the booties of shame, and keys to the Fuck Up mobile.
“If I can live through the events,” she said, “I can get through the memories.”
am happy to simply have time with you. That is enough—and more than I could ever have expected out of my fate. These past few months have been a complicated joy that I wouldn’t have traded anything for. If it must end, then at least I’ve had what I did. And if it goes further then I am luckier than I deserve. And… if it puts you in some small way at peace then I have served my only purpose.”
“Gift wrapping one’s words does not change the nature of truth.”
There came a time in everyone’s life when they realized that in spite of how hard they’d been running from themselves, everywhere they went, there they were: Addictions and compulsions were nothing but marching bands of distraction, masking truths that were unpleasant, but ultimately undeniable.
Life was short, no matter how many days you were granted. And people were precious, each and every one, no matter how many you were lucky enough to have in your life. And love… love was worth dying for. Worth living for, too.
When you were young, you thought time was a burden, something to be discharged as fast as possible so you could be grown-up. But it was such a bait-n-switch—when you were an adult, you came to realize that minutes and hours were the single most precious thing you had.
