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the moon is always jealous of the heat of the day, just as the sun always longs for something dark and deep.
What had she thought, that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, just to play with? Real love was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.
“Don’t yell at me,” Gillian says. “I can’t take it. I’ll flip out, Sally. I’m way too fragile for this.”
the black aura of fear when her mother saw that she looked like a woman, not a little girl. These bands of color seem so real to Kylie that she has tried to reach out her hand and touch them,
the sound he’s always wishing for—the exasperated and beautiful sigh that escapes from Gillian’s mouth
I wish I deserved him,
“I got what I thought I deserved,”
“He’s gone.” And maybe he really is, because Gillian isn’t crying anymore, not even in her sleep, and those bruises he left on her arms have disappeared,
But love was not about practice and preparation, it was pure chance; if you took your time with it you ran the risk of having it evaporate before it had even begun.
Grief is all around; it’s just invisible to most people.
isolation becomes a circle: the lonelier you are, the more you pull away, until humans seem an alien race, with customs and a language you can’t begin to understand.
Pride is a funny thing; it can make what is truly worthless appear to be a treasure. As soon as you let go of it, pride shrinks to the size of a fly, but one that has no head, and no tail, and no wings with which to lift itself off the ground.
“Don’t worry,” Gillian says. “They’ll still need you after they’re all grown up.”
when they were both all grown up, they wanted to look up at the stars and not be afraid. This is the night they had wished for.
Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Plant roses and lavender, for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.
