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Life courses through her so vividly and almost tangibly—like I could reach out and touch it, bottle it up and drink it, or just keep it. Possess it, knowing I have the option to consume it whenever I want. Money can’t buy this brand of vitality. This is bone deep—soul deep. She shines like the sun, golden and bright.
Wanting me would be like choosing a vial of poison to quench your thirst. A slow and painful way to get dragged down into the dark. And no one wants that.
“You’re not broken. You’re perfect. And I’m a shitty fucking patchwork quilt. I’ve spent years picking up the tattered pieces of myself, every life event, every heartbreak, and slowly stitched it all back together. But I’m not good at sewing, Violet.”
You don’t look at me like I’m tragic. You look at me like we’re inevitable.”
“I want you. But you need to want you too. I can’t want you enough for the both of us.”
“You fell in love with that woman’s drive. Her passion. Her spark for life. Her light. What if, rather than throwing that all away, you became her suncatcher? Take that light and amplify it in every way you can. Bask in it. How wondrous to have found it!”
I can’t look away from his silvery moonlit eyes. He thinks he’s dark. I think he just shines differently. The way the moon illuminates the world at night, soft and subtle. He doesn’t shine, he glows.
