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It always happens this way: you only come to terms with how badly you treated someone or something when there’s nothing left for you to do to make it right.
A blank stare is enough to fool anyone. You just have to do it right.
Indigo’s not even trying to look elegant, yet she’s the most graceful woman I’ve ever seen, looking ethereal in the dim light.
His effortless compliment has made me feel a little better about myself.
My project on her Dracaena cinnabari (the tree’s species) ended two days ago. Our meetings continued with me pretending I still had something to do. Couldn’t make myself tell Indigo. Don’t know why, but I couldn’t do it.
Indigo is a stunning woman. Everything about her is beautiful. It doesn't take a lot to admit I’m attracted to her. She doesn’t realize it, but there’s something about her that makes you addicted to her presence.
“My mom always pays someone to be my date because of how obsessed she is with finding me a partner.” “What? I would do it for free.”
“What did you tell my mom to make her disappear so fast?” she suddenly asks while her palm is on my face. I giggle and raise my head, looking her dead in the eye. “That the only place you have fat is your ass.”
When it comes to me, Indigo has all the time in the world and more. It’s just that she doesn’t know it yet.
Better regret something you did than regret something you didn’t.
Indigo and I are nothing, and at the same time, we’re everything.
“See?” he whispers. “This is what you do to me. You take my breath away.”
They carry memories, and when you lose whatever keeps your memories alive, you start to feel like it never happened.
Indigo has become every breath of air I take, every smile on my face, and every beat of my heart. She’s become my every day.
I love that about him. I love many things about him. Many parts of him. And I’m afraid of the day when I’ll love all of him.
“Hey,” he puts on that breathtaking smile, “I’ll plant you a damn forest if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He loves animals, his family, ketchup on his fried egg, brushing his curly hair in the morning, sleeping with a pillow between his legs, and my eyes. Don’t know for sure about the last one, but no one’s gaze has ever met mine the way his does.
