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And for every man positioned in a place of power or importance, there will always be someone waiting in the wings to seek weakness out, anticipate your next move, and attempt to take what doesn’t belong to them.”
A bird, unable to fly, is still a bird; but a human unable to love is an inexpensive stone.’”
But then that’s the crux of love, isn’t it? It is very much a high, a high people thrive on. One that can rip your soul apart once you’ve lost it.
“And you’re insane if you think I’ll ever want to know the inner workings of your heart and mind.” I grab his suit jacket from the floor and toss it in his face. “Don’t take this personally, but get the hell out.” His eyes flame just before I turn and slam my bathroom door behind me.
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I crossed a line that my mind and body agreed to and ignored my heart, all for this bittersweet relief.
pulls me to him, my back to his front as he rests his head on my pillow, his warm breath hitting my ear. “So was I. Je ne veux pas n’être qu’une phase pour toi.”
And there’s a beauty to Karma; you never know when it will come back to bite you in the ass.”
Unbelieving that the man intent on breaking me is the one who’s mending me;
“He doesn’t decide your worth. No one does. I know that doesn’t make it better, but he doesn’t deserve you.”
I realized anger can make you just as reckless as any other emotion. And yet here I am, doing very bad things to a very good thing,”
“There’s something you need to know.” He swallows, his frame rattling as he covers my hand on his chest, the beat beneath quickening, smashing against my palm as if trying to break free. “Your heart is not your weakness, Cecelia. It’s mine.”
“Yours. I was always supposed to be yours,” I say as he nods and crushes me with his kiss.
They came like the thieves they are under the cover of night and marked me, labeled me: a label that screams one thing and one thing only—mine.
I might not know what love is, but I now know what it isn’t.
You were amongst liars, thieves, and killers,” he says softly, “way too fucking good for any of it, and I think we clung to you because you represented everything we wanted to protect, but could never be.”
“I’ll find you again. I’ll find you in my dreams. We’ll have so many rainy days. I’ll find you—”
In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed— But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted. —“A Dream,” Edgar Allen Poe
I was loved in a way few get loved. So, naturally, it forever changed me.
but time has been nothing but a noose, giving me the rope an inch at a time.
I want your attention, your lips, your tongue, your body. You have infected me with your sickness, and now I’m an addict too.”
“Because if and when you stop fighting me, that’s when I’ll know I’ve lost.”
What future can you have with a memory?”
“Always so dramatic.” I tilt my head back against the brick and laugh. “You just destroyed a bar, and I’m dramatic?”
“T’aimer m’a rendu malade et je ne veux plus jamais guérir.” Loving you made me sick, and I don’t ever want to get well.
resignation. “We don’t get a happy ending, Cecelia. We just get an ending.”
“I don’t know, Collin. I guess . . .” I repeat Tobias’s words. “I don’t get a happy ending. I just get an ending.”
Money. The most necessary of evils that can completely change a person for better or worse. My mother lives comfortably now, but she’s grown used to it, and it’s brought her no greater happiness. It never brought my father any either. And for me, it is an insult. I hate it. I hate the power it gives to those who don’t deserve it, and the lives it steals for those who are a slave for just a little of it. I hate the greed, and the thirsty deeds done to acquire it, and the fear and the bitterness it inspires in those who don’t have it.
I’m a lover who got nothing in return but a broken heart and tattered self-image.
Wait for me my love. Until we meet again. Until we can feel the rain on both our faces. There has to be a time for us in the next life. I don’t want any part of a heaven where I don’t see you.
He would rather lose me in life than risk my death, my blood on his hands.
“I’ve come to claim what’s mine. And you know it’s not the fucking car.”
“Because loving you made me sick as fuck and losing you twice has made me terminal. I don’t want to live out any ending that doesn’t include you.”
“If you leave, I’ll come after you. If you change your mind, I’ll change it back. I’ll fight so fucking hard for you every single day, so you never question if you made the right choice.”
He shrugs. “First of many. Merde, c’est nous.” Fuck it, it’s us.
I again find myself trapped inside what, for me, is the hardest part of grieving—the lack of new memories. That, combined with the paralyzing truth that none will ever be made again. What I can remember—a memory I pray never fails me with the details—is all I’ll ever have.
After forty-four years of life, I’m positive she’s the only thing I can’t live without. And for the next forty-three, I will never love another.
