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“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.
They had been married and healthy for five years and it only took seven months of sickness to make Parker vanish, leaving my poor sister brokenhearted.
“Air above me, earth below me, fire within me, water surround me…”
Even though I repeated the words, I felt like a failure.
I feel guilty, because for every good thought I have, five negative ones pass through.
I’m tired, Mama. I’m exhausted, and then I feel guilty for almost falling apart.
I never told her, but with every inhale, I begged for her healing, and with every exhale, I prayed for her husband to never come back.
sometimes the words that left her mouth made me rethink every flow chart we’d ever made. How could someone so beautiful be so ugly at times?
“It’s funny, isn’t it? How one person’s angel could be another’s biggest demon.”
“Maktub. It means all is written, that everything happens for a reason.”
“Graham Cracker?” I said softly, turning my body toward him, moving a few inches closer. “Yes, Lucille?” he replied, turning more toward me. “Every word you’ve ever written becomes my new favorite story.”
She was the girl who felt everything, and I was the man who felt nothing at all.
“Doesn’t it tire you?” I asked. “To feel so much?” “Doesn’t it tire you to not feel at all?”
so I decided to fall into fiction in order to forget about reality for a while. When my fingers were working, my brain wasn’t focused on anything but the words. Words freed me from the confusion my wife had dumped in my lap. Words freed me from remembering my father. Words freed me from falling too deep into my mind where I stored all the pain from my past.
Without writing, my world would be filled with loss. Without words, I’d be shattered.
Once a person broke trust, once a lie was brought to the surface, everything they ever said, true or false, felt as if it was at least partially covered in betrayal.
“Who hurt you so bad and made you so cold?”
Yet the truth of the matter was, sometimes the ones we loved most were the monsters that tucked us in at night.
It was crazy how you could know a person your whole life and then realize you knew nothing about them at all.
As she walked outside, I spoke. “I’m bad with words.” She turned around and shook her head. “No, I’ve read your books, and you’re great with words—almost too good. What you lack are people skills.”
“Perhaps I’m one of those novels where you have to keep turning the page until the very end to understand the meaning.”
“You are loved, Talon. I promise to always take care of you. I promise to be better for you.”
He would’ve never showed that side of his heart if he was standing near me. He would’ve never been seen in such a vulnerable state of mind. Yet the fact that he wasn’t afraid to love his daughter so carefully in the quietness of his home, lit me up inside. It turned out the beast wasn’t such a monster after all. He was simply a man who’d been hurt in the past and was slowly opening back up due to the love of his daughter.
“Just because you smile and act free doesn’t mean the cage doesn’t exist. It merely means you lowered your standards for how far you’ll allow yourself to fly.”
“Thank you, Graham.” “For what?” “Catching me before I hit the ground.”
“To the rest of the world, you seem so dark and grim, but when you look at your daughter, everything shifts. Everything in your energy changes. You become lighter.”
I stood still for a few moments, unable to leave her side. As someone who’d been left behind before, I didn’t want her to fall asleep being alone.
I couldn’t for the life of me understand why a person would leave someone as gentle as her behind—with or without her weird sage stick and crystals.
“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.”
“You’re making a garden? For me?” “You’ve done plenty for me,” he replied. “You’ve done even more for Talon. The least I can do is build you a garden so you can have another place to meditate.
He started to walk away, and I called after him. “Why did you do this?” I asked. “The garden?” He lowered his head and shrugged his shoulders before looking into my eyes. “A smart woman once told me I was a shitty human, and I’m trying my best to be a little less shitty.”
Looking for casual sex, no strings attached. Unless you’re into being tied up. Looking at you, Anastasia. “Who’s Anastasia?” I asked.
God this is so funny 🤣🤣🤣
“Anything you wear will be good enough for me.”
“My God, Lucille, you’re like the female version of Oliver—my worst nightmare.” “Or your favorite dream come true,”
For the first time, I began to understand her fully. The beautiful girl who felt everything. Her emotions weren’t what made her weak. They were her strength.
“The thing is, the heart never listens to the brain’s logic, Mr. Russell.” He nudged me in the side with an all-knowing hitch in his voice. “It just feels.”
“It’s just funny, isn’t it? How the main characters never know about the adventures they’re about to go on.”
And yet, I wanted to be just like her. I wanted to be an odd character, a freak of nature. I wanted to stumble and laugh out loud. I wanted to find her beautiful disaster and mix it together with my own mess. I wanted the freedom she swam in, and her fearlessness of living in the moment.
I wanted to know what it meant to be a part of her world. To be a man who felt everything. I wanted to hold her, but still have her move freely in my arms. I wanted to taste her lips and breathe in a part of her soul as I gave her a glimpse of mine.
This life is short, and you never know how many chapters you have left in your novel, Graham. Live each day as if it’s the final page. Breathe each moment as if it’s the final word. Be brave, my son. Be brave.”
“Lucille Hope Palmer.” “Yes, Graham Michael Russell?”
After this I need you to go back to being my friend, because being friends with you makes me a better person. You make me a better human.”
“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.”
I wondered if this was what his whole life was like, feeling everything only in the shadows.
“Thank you, Lucille, for everything. I don’t trust many people, but I trust you with my world.”
You’re staying with him because you’re falling for him.”
“It means all is written, Lucy. It means everything that happens was meant to be, not only what you believe to be destined. You can’t only accept the positive in life. You must accept it all.”
“Loneliness is a liar,” Graham told me, sitting down on the edge of his bed as he spoke. “It’s toxic and deadly most of the time. It forces people to believe they are better off with the devil himself than being alone, because somehow being alone means a person failed. Somehow being alone means a person isn’t good enough. So, more often than not, the poison of loneliness seeps in and makes a person believe that any kind of attention must stand for love. Fake love that is built on a bed of loneliness will fail—I should know. I’ve been alone all my life.”
A great novel didn’t involve tossing together words that didn’t interconnect. In a great novel, each sentence mattered, each word had a meaning to the overall story arc. There was always forewarning to the plot twists and the different paths the novel would travel down, too. If a reader looked closely enough, they could always witness the warning signs. They could taste the heart of every word that bled on the page, and by the end, their palate would be satisfied.
A great story always had structure. But life wasn’t a great story.
