53 Letters for My Lover

So what's it like? To have it all? Like flying. Soaring. Until you come across the one thing you'd give it all up for, and can never have.

There is nothing to hide anymore. When love looks at you, when it truly pins you down and stares into your soul, it renders you defenseless. And in that moment, in that state of humbling nakedness, it makes you completely invincible.

We have an infinite capacity to love, but when you wrap up your love and give it to someone, they expect all of it. And that’s what you think too—that you’re giving them everything you’ve got. You really do. Until you realize that love is end-less, bottom-less, boundary-less. The more you give, the more gushes out. It spills over, refusing to be contained in neat little parcels, swelling like a river after a flash flood. And in the end, it doesn’t matter which part was whose, because in the end it’s all one, like streams merging into the ocean

We all die, Shayda.” He turns and looks at me. “It’s about how we choose to get there.

Because I'm scared. Because each time I see him, it's a little more overwhelming than before. Because I'm afraid it'll build up to a tsunami- like crescendo and come crashing down on me.

We were like two stars converging around the same axis, but with paths that missed each other by a fraction of infinity.

What good is love if you don't show it?

This is what he does to me. Open up the windows of my soul and pushes me out.

I feel like a tree exposed to the elements, my roots clinging to the soil, my branches flirting with heaven.

I want to share every sunrise and every sunset and every second in between with you. I want your laughter and your breath and your blood and your bones. You’re the one thing that centres my soul. I may circle the whole world, but you’ll always be home, Beetroot.

But sitting here before Troy Heathgate now, I'm teetering on a knife's edge between honor and disgrace.

The only way to feel truly alive is to start living fearlessly.

This is what great masterpieces must feel like on museum walls—like sighing, like climbing out of their rigidly stretched frames, and falling, boneless, into a lover’s glance.

My heart thunders like the hooves of a thousand wild horses.

This is what he does to me. Open up the windows of my soul and push me out. Fly, dammit, fly!

No one cares if, after a storm, they’re washed ashore naked. Only that they are alive.

No one knows how many tomorrows they have. That’s what makes it all so precious.

Are you an only child?" "Yep.The sole beneficiary of all their love and affection." I put the frame away and look around."So what's it like?To have it all?" "Like flying.Soaring.Until you come across the one thing you'd give it all up for,and can never have.

They tell you that an affair destroys everything, that there are no winners, that there is only heartbreak.

I can promise you one thing. It'll be mad and passionate. Because I don't believe mediocre sex is worth having.

I wish I could hold your hand outside this room, go for a walk, sit on a patio, watch the world go by.

If Troy Heathgate locks in on you,you're done for.Even when you know he's so,so bad for you,it feels so,so good.

Nothing revives the cup of life more than a caustic splash of death.

What’s it like to face your own mortality? “It makes you think,” I reply. “The big things, the small things. The dreams, the regrets.

It started long before this, when stars were mere particles in swirling clouds of dust. And every event since has conspired to bring us together.

Your father and I,we were something,you know.We burned so bright,the stars grew jealous.But maybe you know something I didn't.Maybe if you don't allow yourself to shine,you never burn out.

They shake hands—the solid, down-to-earth man and the restless, unpredictable lightning in the sky. I feel like a tree exposed to the elements, my roots clinging to the soil, my branches flirting with heaven.

It’s not perfect, this thing between us, like trying to bring the two circles of our lives together, and living in the small, tight space where they intersect, everything else pushed to the circumference, until we step back inside our very different, very separate orbs.

Tough boots, snug jeans and a wicked black leather jacket—trouble cruising for a place to land.