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345 pages, Paperback
First published June 28, 2022
“I began to realise that love wasn't dead, but it wasn't forever, either. It was something in between, a moment in time where two people existed at the exact same moment in the exact same place in the universe.”
𓏲 ₊♡𓂃Love wasn't a whisper in the quiet night.
It was a yelp into the void, screaming that you were here.⋆𓂃ִֶָ ⊹˚
❥𝓜𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼💭 ˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹
🌼“…you don't ever lose the sadness, but you learn to love it because it becomes a part of you, and bit by bit, it fades. And, eventually, you'll pick yourself back up and you'll find that you're okay. That you're going to be okay. And eventually, it'll be true.”🌼
💐“Always. I'm yours, Florence Day,” he said, and kissed my knuckles.
Those words made my heart soar.
“Ardently?”
“Fervently. Zealously. Keenly. Passionately yours.”
“And I'm yours,”💐
Buying books always made me feel better, even if I never read them.
“Love is a celebration of life and death. It stays with you. It lingers, my darlings, long after I'm gone. Listen for me when the wind rushes through the trees.”
“So, thank you for giving me words when I didn't think there were any left. I hope you never stop giving the world your words.”
Standing there in the middle of the dandelion field, looking up into Ben's soft ocher eyes, I began to realize that love wasn't dead, but it wasn't forever, either. It was something in between, a moment in time where two people existed at the exact same moment in the exact same place in the universe.
“There's nothing like the sound of the sky rattling your bones, you know?” he once told me when I asked why he loved thunderstorms so much. “Makes you feel alive. Reminds you that there's more to you than just skin and blood, but bones underneath. Stronger stuff. Just listen to that sky sing, buttercup.”
“Everything that dies never really goes. In little ways, it all stays.”
“You are perfect.”
“Am I?”
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
“As often as I deem necessary.”
Grief was the exact opposite. It was full and heavy and drowning because it wasn't the absence of everything you lost- it was the culmination of it all, your love, your happiness, your bittersweets, wound tight like a knotted ball of yarn.
I was so fucking sad, and yet there were moments when the tide would go back out and I wasn't drowning anymore in it- and they were all moments, I realized, with Ben.
Because of Ben.
“This is exhausting,” he agreed softly. “All of it. Pretending to be okay while the world changes around you and leaves you behind to sit with whatever loss you found.”
No one had ever thanked me for that before. For trying. Even though I was failing.
Would've, should've, could've.
Hindsight was such a bitch.
A glimmer in the corner caught my eye. I glanced over.
An old woman with beautiful wide brown eyes stood in the doorway to the parlor, her hand outstretched to an elderly man in an orange sweater and brown pants, who took it tightly and kissed her knuckles. They shimmered in that star-glitter way spirits did.
“Now he can give her lilies himself.”
𓏲 ₊♡𓂃“There is no happy ending. There's just... happily living. As best you can.”⋆𓂃ִֶָ ⊹˚
“Because ghost stories were just love stories about here and then and now and when, about pockets of happiness and moments that resonated in places long after their era. They were stories that taught you that love was never a matter of time, but a matter of timing.”
” There is no happy ending, theres just. . . happily living. As best you”
”because I couldn't exist on my own, but sometimes I just didn't want to.
Sometimes I just wanted to let my guard down, let the pieces of me fall to the ground, and know that I had someone there who could put me back together without minding the sharp bits.”
”Love wasn't a whisper in the quiet night. It was a yelp into the void, screaming that you were here.”
”always. Im yours Florence day,” he said and kissed mu knuckles.
“ ardently?”
“Fervently.zealously. Keenly. Passionately yours”
“ and I’m yours”
“We might've been a family in black, but our lives were filled with light and joy and color”
“I feel like we’ve done a few of these . . .”
“But I could never touch you.”
“I’d be okay with that.”
“No one else will ever see me.”
“That means you’d be all mine.”
“I think, as readers, we all have a comfort read, the one book that protects us in the exact ways it needs to—whether it is a romance or erotica or a thriller or a crime story or a fantasy. A book that we find ourselves in, like looking in a mirror. Oh, you, too? It will ask, as it fills that soft, hollow place in your heart that nothing else dared to touch. I think we all deserve a book like that, whatever yours is.”
Standing there in the middle of the dandelion field, looking up into Ben’s soft ocher eyes, I began to realize that love wasn’t dead, but it wasn’t forever, either. It was something in between, a moment in time where two people existed at the exact same moment in the exact same place in the universe.
Because if there was one thing more powerful than death itself, it was true, undeniable love.
I wasn’t good at other people’s emotions because I didn’t know how to help, usually.
When someone was in pain, I wanted to fix it.
But I couldn’t.
"You know, you being angry on my behalf is kinda sweet. I wish I’d met you sooner when you were alive.”
“Me, too".