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Nowhere is hot like this. Or wet like this. Spending the summer in La Cachette is like living inside someone’s mouth for three months out of the year.
To get here, first you drive to the end of the world, then you get on a boat and keep on going.
It may not be what you were expecting, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t what you need.
She told me everyone has at least one secret that’ll break your heart.”
“Knowing is hard,” he says, “but it’s a thing you can survive. The not knowing will kill you in the end. It’s the secrets that fester.”
It hits me hard how every single one of us—everyone in the whole wide world—is walking around with missing pieces.
Need isn’t love. Loneliness isn’t love. And pain isn’t love. Even if it’s shared.
