Adelaide

by Genevieve Wheeler

The thing about Adelaide is that she felt everything. Truly, everything. She cried during documentaries, while reading books, when royal babies were born. She cried when she was happy and when she was sad and when the world felt like it was all just too much and her face was on fire and the only way to cool it down was to cry, cry, cry, cry, cry. It often felt selfish and irrational. She knew she was so lucky, so blessed. That there was no reason to cry. It didn’t matter; she would cry anyway.

The most me quote I’ve ever read

There are parts of our hearts we give away. Not lend, but sacrifice entirely. And there are some people to whom we give these pieces, knowing we’ll never really get them back. It felt like Adelaide had been holding on, with all her might, to the chunk of her heart she’d given to Rory. No, she said. I still need it, she said. But there was no use. It was his now. It would always be his. And, with the gentle thunk by which her letter landed in the postbox, Adelaide felt like she’d finally let it go.

Ugh I loved this woman’s writing