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Something lost is something gained.
Sometimes lies were easier than the truth.
Infinity is just an illusion. Something we tell ourselves we have, because truly realizing just how fragile time is would be close to crippling.
Sometimes the discomfort of indecision was preferable to the pain of choice. Especially when so many of the decisions we made in a moment could alter the rest of our lives.
It was easier to walk away when you didn’t have a lot to drag behind you.
A lot of things blew in with the winter winds at night. Thoughts, memories, regrets… sometimes snow. But the wind had never blown in a man before.
What were the odds? The odds that two men so shattered would meet? The odds that all our broken pieces would somehow fit together to create something whole?
Clearly, I was overly tired. I was comparing his hair to a shirt.
“Dude, put on some clothes, not pants that look like something my granny sent in a text message.” “Your granny texts you?” I wondered. “In all emojis. It’s like trying to decode directions in Arabic.” “Granny’s my favorite person ever.” Drew smiled.
Death couldn’t rip my life apart again if there was no one I cared about to be taken from me.
Arrow wasn’t anything to me—except the potential to be everything.
What the fuck were we doing? Two broken shards, two drained batteries, two men who were merely shells. What could we offer each other?
Here we were treading carefully, worried we might step on the other’s landmines. But then there were these moments of unbridled restraint, when the landmines were momentarily shut off and all that existed between us was everything we felt for each other.
It was scary to let someone in. In your heart. In your mind. In your body.
“Whatever you are is okay.”
And that right there explained Arrow to a T. Innocent enough to sleep in emoji pants, but beneath it all was a man made of steel who, when push came to shove, would come out swinging.
I need to stop letting being gay define me and instead define being gay.”
Being with Joey was making him soft. Shh, don’t tell him I said that. He’d kick my ass.
I never met Arrow’s father. I didn’t know him. I hated him anyway.
“How in the hell could you have given me your heart?” I wondered aloud. “Because you’re the one who taught it to beat again.”
What a rare gem he was. A diamond still surrounded by coal, already put through so much pressure. A diamond already formed, just waiting for the soot to be rinsed away.
My God, my stomach was flipping like it wasn’t a stomach anymore, but a tilt-a-whirl with a broken switch.
A true lesson in patience = Arrow touching me.
“It’s like ninety million degrees in here.” He scoffed. “You turned the heat up like we’re a bunch of old grannies with no body heat.”
Being a survivor made every moment, every kind word a little more meaningful, because they were the ones who knew what almost never was.
I might not be ready to tell him those three words, but I would always, no matter what, treat him as if I already had.
He owned me. He fucking owned me, and nothing would change it.
He was good to me. Patient. Gentle. Understanding.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out the reason my apartment no longer felt like home. Arrow wasn’t in it. He was my home now, no matter how conflicted it sometimes made me.
Sullivan had to go. Permanently. And no, that didn’t mean I was plotting his murder. Geez, you guys, get your head out of the gutter.
