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The rocking chair was a reminder for Mari to slow down and take a few moments to embrace life, to not let it pass her by.
“Maktub,” I whispered, holding her close. The word was tattooed on both of our wrists, meaning ‘it is written.’ Everything in life happened for a reason, happened exactly how it was meant to, no matter how painful it seemed. Some love stories were meant to be forever, and others just for a season. What Mari had forgotten was that the love story between a mother and daughter was always there, even when the seasons changed.
Love. The emotion that made people both soar and crash. The feeling that lit humans up and burned their hearts. The beginning and ending of every journey.
“Doesn’t it tire you?” I asked. “To feel so much?” “Doesn’t it tire you to not feel at all?” In that moment, I realized I’d come face to face with my polar opposite, and I didn’t have a clue what else to say to a stranger as strange as her.
“Yes, but still. I’m like an ingrown toenail. Once someone lets me in, I dig my claws in.” “What a disgusting thing to compare yourself to.” I grimaced. “I mean, that’s literally the worst comparison I’ve ever heard before.”
arched an eyebrow, confused as to why he was so determined. “But why? What are you doing?” “You asked me to make a garden,” he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “So I’m making you a garden.” My heart. It exploded.
A boy who doesn’t go down doesn’t have the right to your services once he goes up.”
“Being around you does something strange to me, something that hasn’t happened in such a long time.” “What happens?” He took my hand in his then led it to his chest, and his next words came out as a whisper. “My heart begins to beat again.”
‘The world’s a little darker tonight, Graham.’ Then he wiped away his tears and said, ‘But still, I must believe that the sun will rise tomorrow.’”
