Signed, Sealed, and Smitten (Only Magic in the Building)

by Melanie Jacobson

if I don’t eat right now, I’ll die.”

Me

I am a lifelong golden retriever with no chance of being a black cat.

I would definitely swing much harder if I were going for a felony.

History belongs to the people, always.

I head upstairs to reward myself with a half pint of ice cream and a New Girl binge for getting everything back on track today.

ME right now

“Spill it like it’s the Boston Tea Party,”

You can excuse almost anything lazy you do if you tell people you’re on a book deadline.”

You’re correct, of course. You could never be “one of” because there’s only one: you. How could another girl turn my head when you’re around?

He looks more adorable than any male should have the right to.

But I have a strong allergy to smooth-talking men,

I’m hopelessly gone on you.

Let other women keep their St. Laurent; this is my power suit.

“I don’t have a great poker face, do I?” “Your face comes with subtitles. I like it.”

I’m a pants-on-fire liar, of course.

At some point in a friendship, you end up sharing stories about when you were not your best self. It can feel risky when you really need your friend to be okay with whatever you’re about to share. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like a risk because the story is a filter; it removes people from your life who aren’t ready to deal with all of you.

people’s assumptions about me are an obstacle.

O-O-O’Reiiiilly … Autoooo Parts.” “Really?” “It sticks in your head like a spell. You got something better?”

It was good to see you, to hold you, to close the distance that I hate more with each passing week.

You may have placed fifth in the pageant, but you’re first in my heart. Yours always, Dear Heart

It’s a good reminder of how human nature often tries to assign meaning to coincidence.

“This is what you call serendipity.”

“At this point, it seems inevitable.”

He’s all my senses now, the smell of flowers and summer night air fading, the sound of his breath overtaking the distant city noise, the warmth from his body and the contrast between his soft lips and the friction of the scruff on his jaw sending wildly contradictory and intense signals to my brain, but it’s offline, too lost in sensations to do more than record it all.

This will be a permanent record in my archive, one that I might study when I revisit it, but right now, it’s only about the feeling.

And I can’t figure out why the best things about you are the things you keep trying to suffocate.”