I've been burdened by questions I've asked myself a thousand times since the last time we were together. Why did I do it? And would I do it again? It was I, you see, who ended it.
Right, well, he'd been sick for a while and his nurse said to him, 'You seem to be feeling better this morning,' and Isben looked at her and said, 'On the contrary,' and then he died.
"Call me," she whispered to him with a confidence that would fade as the days passed. Qhuinn smiled a little. "Take care." At the sound of the two words, Blay relaxed, his big shoulders easing up. In Qhuinn-landia, "Take care" was synonymous with "I'm never going to see, call or fuck you again."
He let his mouth linger on mine, neither possessively nor sweetly... like his mouth just belonged there on mine. And he was right. It did. It always had.
As his ears rang and his heart broke for her, he stayed strong against the gale force she let loose. After all, there was a reason why and were seperated by so little and sounded one like the other. Bearing witness to her, he heard her and was there for her because that was all you could do during a fall apart. But God, it pained him to see how she suffered.
He nodded and curled over his paper, writing quickly. As his words took form on the white page, she got to watch him...and realized she never wanted him to go. She wanted him here beside her forever.
Sometimes your whole life could hinge on a fraction of an inch. Or the beat of nanosecond. Or the knock on a door. Kind of made a male believe in the divine. It really did.
Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.
"The "war" is being fought along the line between sin and righteousness in every family. It is being fought along the line between truth and falsehood in every school... Between justice and injustice in every legislature... Between integrity and corruption in every office... Between love and hate in every ethnic group... Between pride and humility in every sport... Between the beautiful and the ugly in every art... Between right doctrine and wrong doctrine in every church... Between sloth and diligence between coffee breaks. It is not a waste to fight the battle for truth and faith and love on any of these fronts."
She did nothing to try to control the shakes that rattled her body,and didn't attempt to stop herself from crying. Tears left both of her eyes at the far corners,slipping out and flowing over her temples.Some landed in her ears. Some eased down her neck and were absorbed by the pillow.Others clouded her vision,as if they didn't want to leave home.
I can honestly say I could go two or three days without wondering what Savannah was doing or even thinking about her. Did this make my love less real? I asked myself that question dozens of times during that trip, but I always decided it didn't, for the simple reason that her image would ambush me when I least expected it, overwhelming me with the same ache I had the day I'd left. Anything might set it off: a friend talking about his wife, the sight of a couple holding hands, or even the way some of the villagers would smile as we passed.
"She shook her head. "I'm not leaving him. And I'm out here waiting only because I was making him crazy. The sight of me... isn't good for his mental health at this moment. I'm hoping that's no longer true after he breaks this second treadmill." "Second?" "I'm pretty damn sure that flapping and the smell of smoke about fifteen minutes ago meant he ran one of them into the ground." "Damn." "Yup."
Vielleicht muss es im Leben eines Schriftstellers diesen Augenblick geben, in dem ein anderer Schriftsteller beschuldigt wird, seinen Beruf verfehlt zu haben.