Amy Johnson

“Her next words took me by surprise. I lay as still as I could, barely breathing, afraid that if I moved she would stop speaking her heart.
“My mom wanted six children. She only got me, and that sucks for her because I was a total weirdo.”
“You were not,” I said.
She twisted her head up to look at me.
“I used to line my lips in black eyeliner and sit cross-legged on the kitchen table … meditating.”
“Not that bad,” I said. “Crying out for attention.”
“Okay, when I was twelve I started writing letters to my birth mother because I wanted to be adopted.”
I shook my head. “Your childhood sucked, you wanted a new reality.”
She snorted air through her nose. “I thought a mermaid lived in my shower drain, and I used to call her Sarah and talk to her.”
“Active imagination,” I countered. She was becoming more insistent, her little body wriggling in my grip.
“I used to make paper out of dryer lint.”
“Nerdy.”
“I wanted to be one with nature, so I started boiling grass and drinking it with a little bit of dirt for sugar.”
I paused. “Okay, that’s weird.”
“Thank you!” she said. Then, she got serious again. “My mom just loved me through all of it.”
― Tarryn Fisher, Thief

“I’ll love you forever G, wherever I am in the world, whatever I’m doing, it will always be you, I’m yours, for as long as you want me, for as long as I’m good for you, I’m all yours.”
― Lesley Jones, The Story of Us

“Nothing says awkward like coming in your pants while dry humping.”
― Jay McLean, More Than This

“When I was drowning, she became my air. In the cold, she became my warmth. In the dark, she became my light.”
― A. Meredith Walters, Light in the Shadows