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you didn’t need to worry about Clementine West. She always figured it out.
I loved how a book, a story, a set of words in a sentence organized in the exact right order, made you miss places you’ve never visited, and people you’ve never met.
“You’re an Excel spreadsheet to my chaos.”
“And,” she had said gravely, that summer I turned eight and thought I knew what made this apartment magical, but I did not, “it bends time when you least expect it.”
Sometimes the people you love don’t leave you with goodbyes—they just leave.
“And she’s supremely off-limits,” he finished, his voice against my hair. My heart twisted in the ultimate betrayal. He stepped away from me, a pained look on his face. “Always the wrong time, isn’t it, Lemon?”
“And I still fucking love the way you blush. It drives me crazy.”
“Isn’t it strange how the world works sometimes? It’s never a matter of time, but a matter of timing.”
Love was an invitation into the wild unknown, one step at a time together.
