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He’s like an eclipse—simultaneously dark and light, and not safe to look at for too long without suffering a burn.
“Ladybugs are supposed to mean good luck,”
“Did you also know in Norway, there’s a myth that if a man and a woman see a ladybug at the same time, they’ll fall in love and are destined to be together forever?”
Then there was you, Keeper of my heart, Wish of my soul.
It’s not butterflies, exactly. It’s more like fireflies. A spark of light and heat fading into the dark. A quick feeling of ooh that I can’t wait to feel again.
my father would never allow us to “I don’t know” as an answer to anything. He told us it was unacceptable. Lazy. A ploy to hide the truth from others and, sometimes, from ourselves.
“I promise. The only thing in my life that I’ve ever known for sure, the only thing that’s always with me, even when I’m fucked up, is that I love you and you love me. I need you to believe in us.”
Why, oh why, is vulnerability so attractive?
