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Kindle Notes & Highlights
If a restaurant could romance, I was utterly enchanted.
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.
“Whenever you need to do something, you just go for it. Straight line.
“You’re an Excel spreadsheet to my chaos.”
What better way to foster the future than to give the future a chance to succeed?
waving her large heart-shaped sunglasses for me to catch up.
Just like me for real
The apartment was foreign to me now, missing something terribly large, but it still felt like home in a way that nothing else ever could. Like a place I once knew, but that no longer welcomed me.
This is a perfect description of how a home feels after the person you love passes.
Getting her favorite chipped coffee mug that read F*ck the Patriarchy.
Ok TS reference
stamps it’d impress any lifelong traveler, but every time I showed it to someone they’d get this idea about me. That I was some child of chaos with a wild heart, when, in reality, I was just a scared girl hanging on to my aunt’s blue coattails as she spirited me across the world.
“You could, though what if it turns out to be your last meal?” I blinked. “Wow, that went dark fast.” “Would you still stay home and eat a PB&J if you knew?” I frowned, and thought about it for a moment. Then I nodded. “I think so. My aunt used to make me PB&J sandwiches whenever I came to visit her because she’s a terrible cook. She’d always pack more peanut butter onto the sandwich than jelly, so it’d always get stuck right on the roof of my mouth—” He sat up straight. “That’s it! The perfect meal.”
I hate new things. I like repetition.” “Why?”
“New things are scary.”
“They don’t have to be.” “How are they not?” “Because some of my favorite things I haven’t even done yet.” “Then how do you know they’re your favorite?”
“See?”
“Something new isn’t always so bad.”
The couch wasn’t doing anyone any favors—it had always been more for looks than actually fainting on, anyway.
When she wasn’t traveling, my aunt read. She pored over stories, drowned herself in words.
she’d build a pillow fort and crawl underneath it, lit with fairy lights and lavender-scented candles in mason jars, and we’d read together.
There was something just so reassuring about books. They had beginnings and middles and ends, and if you didn’t like a part, you could skip to the next chapter. If someone died, you could stop on the last page before, and they’d live on forever. Happy endings were definite, evils defeated, and the good lasted forever.
There was a certainty to it all, and when there wasn’t, there was always a reason.
This was the kind of silence that was so loud it screamed.
“Just coming home.”
:(
And then I went to sleep in my bed in my aunt’s room, my bed frame creakier than hers, the curtains parted just enough to beam in a sliver of silver light from a moon 238,900 miles away. I shut the curtain and ignored it, like I should have from the beginning.
Love in a lemon pie.
Made me cry
Like it wasn’t a secret, but a sanctuary.
Sometimes the people you love don’t leave you with goodbyes—they just leave.
:’)
My jaw didn’t hurt from clenching it; instead, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. I hadn’t had that much fun in…a very long time.
Such a vivid way to describe this feeling
