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She thought that might have been joy, or something like it. Something that feels sad as much as it feels like love.
“How lucky am I? Every time I turn on the radio there’s a song I like.”
you’re not bound to this house. Go where you want to go. Meet whoever. Love.”
To have a newfound person see him through the spaces where he’d once lived, slept.
She wasn’t sure what sort of game this was: to be pushed away, to be pulled again while others watched.
“It’s not a fever. Darling, my darling. Oh—”
How quickly did the belly of despair turn itself over into hope, the give of the skin of overripe fruit.
“Who are you?” She said, “Have you always been like this? Have you just been waiting to happen?”
Itchy and feeling silly for it. Eva had only been gone an hour. Isabel had spent a lifetime alone.
She knew what she wanted to hear, hated how obvious it was: wanting to be told she was wanted.
What certainty in life do you have? What certainty can you give me? What home?” “This home,” she said. “My home.”
The memories were heavy, empty things low in her gut and only angered her: that her own doorway could be taken away from her, that a childhood and a youth and a life lived through that doorway could disappear in favor of a single person.
Kisses kisses kisses in the bed well what use are kisses in the end I wonder, it’s still cold here and where are you now so what use is
No one knew of her heart and no one knew of her grief and it was torture.
Found that love was a sickly thing that punished you for each step you took in its direction.
She touched the word house. She touched the word devotion.
She wanted to stay. She wanted to be allowed to stay.
