More on this book
Kindle Notes & Highlights
be a bystander too long and you learn to answer only when questioned. You feel yourself becoming unseen, serving as a mirror to those parched for their own reflection.
The air smells like lemons. I hadn’t noticed.
As I dig into my salad, a smile tugs at my lips, despite all the pain. Like a fresh flower pressed in a book, somehow brighter than the rest.
our smiles so wide that our eyes are only slits.
secrets rarely match their masters.
“We were so happy and then we weren’t. And then, sometime after, we were okay. We were okay for forty years.”
I fall asleep to the sound of rain that night. The clouds find their way back to me after all.
I can taste her pain. Her burden, her regret. We have our own reasons, but in this, we are the same.
As a girl, I have spent happier hours with my books than I have with most people, and I do not regret this.
A feeling of fiery disappointment spreads from the centre of my chest, the hue of rubies and just as sharp. I feel my breathing become shallow. I tell myself, this is not my story. I tell myself, finish. Leave.
We did all we could to feed the lonesome beasts within us, but every day, we’d go back home alone. That was reality.
It was the breed of love that is born of fleeting joy, the kind that lasts as long as the cup is replenished.
Ours was a flame spun and teased into what could’ve been a disaster, but we put it away.
It would be an old scar, unacknowledged in our memory.
Strive for it, and you will be okay.
Regret does not wash upon my shore in time.
I sit by the window all night, legs dangling precariously from the edge. The fall wouldn’t kill me, but I glorify it in my head. I give it the power I do not have, the very one I have lacked for years now.
Until one day, when I get a phone call, and it suffocates to its end right where it began.
People rarely are what we believe suits them best.
