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Life doesn’t live itself for you, and nothing is promised to us.
Silence is a relief, a break from the constant torture of straining and trying to catch any scrap of discernible noise that I can.
I thought I was past grieving what I lost, but maybe grief isn’t linear. Maybe I can accept what I’ve lost and still mourn it. Maybe I always will.
The irony is not lost on me, that he’s the first man who’s ever truly made me feel heard in my life and he can’t hear a word I’m saying.
And I’m suspicious that it’s a pretty mouth. Like one of those mouths that a man with eyelashes like yours has no business having.”
Lust. Hate-crazed sexual attraction.
Think about it. We don’t bother with people we’re indifferent to. We provoke and prank and tease those who get under our skin and make us feel, people who incite our passion.
“Because then you have face the scary unknown and want something from it. You have to live with arms wide open to new things. You have to risk trying and failing. You have to release the baggage from your past, so you have room to welcome your future.”
Lumberjack, if I gave it to anyone, it would be you. But I can’t.” His face tightens. One large hand wraps around my waist. “Give me what?” I press on tiptoe and kiss just above his beard, as I whisper, “Everything.”
“You’ll always know, Willa,” she whispers, tapping over my heart. “I’m right there, forever. Listen close enough, and you’ll hear it. I promise.”
“I’m scared too, Sunshine. This is vulnerable shit.” His mouth is a breath away from mine. “I just know I’d rather be afraid with you than fearless with anyone else.”
“I want what you want,” I tell him, loud and clear, slow and sure. I don’t want him to miss a word I say. “All-in, fair and square. I want to be afraid with you rather than fearless and alone. Only when it’s us.”
