“I lose my head when I’m with you.”
… “And I find myself when I’m with you.”
“Fall with me,” I whispered.
He leaned down, lips just brushing mine, and Zachary Kennedy murmured his truth.
“I already jumped.”
“Sometimes it gets old, living in the shadows. Somehow they’re not quite so dark when you’re around.”
“Tell me you need me, Alexis. Tell me you need this as fucking bad as I do. Tell me it’s okay. Tell me I’m not the only one who’s losing his mind.” The words grated, rugged and fuelled by need.
Emotion thickened in my throat, so heavy, so right. “I need you.”
The last threads of whatever was holding Zee back snapped.”
“Guess I imagined being a part of a feeling that could be brought to life in people’s imaginations and eyes”
“This man, who’d rushed in to hold together all the splintering pieces of my world and forced them back together before they were completely destroyed and unrepairable.
…
I felt bound to him in an unfathomable way.
As if when he’d been holding those splintering pieces together, the man had managed to chip away a small piece of my soul. A piece that would permanently belong to him.”
“I want things that will only ruin me, Alexis. But you…you make me want to wish for them anyway. Make me believe there’s a chance that maybe they could belong to me.”
“Fuck…Alexis…Lex. I need you…God, I need you so bad I can’t fucking see.”
“I think I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted. Not in all my life.”
“Chains were a bitch. But sometimes they were the only things tying us to what was most important.”
“That’s the thing, Alexis. I see you looking at me the way you do. Like we could be somethin’. And I want it so fucking bad. To be something to you. To be good for you. But I ruined that possibility a long time ago and I’m not sure there are enough pieces left to give any of them to you. That’s my truth.”
“Can’t get you out of my mind, Lex. Doesn’t matter how hard I try, I can’t get you out. You’ve gotten under my skin. So deep. So fucking deep.”
My fingers sank into the bristling muscle of his shoulders. “Why would you want to stop thinking of me? Don’t you feel this?”
His voice was pained. “Don’t you get it yet? That’s the problem. I feel everything. I want you so goddamned bad, and I can’t ever have you.”
“You make me want to be better. You…you make me forget. Make me forget who I am.”
… “Maybe you’re just remembering who you are. Who you were always supposed to be.”
… He groaned, half pained, half demand. “You almost make me feel like him.”
“Is that what you feel? Like you’re invisible?” That connection I didn’t understand flamed within my chest. Building and intensifying. “Because you’re the only thing I see.” He flinched. “That’s the problem with all of this.”
“Fate is for fairy tales. It’s a romantic notion. Luck is what happens when you’re in the right place at the right time … with the right person.”
“You see, the best thing about wrong decisions is that they don’t prevent you from making the right decisions later on. It’s harder, but it’s not impossible.”
“Do not go by oral tradition, by lineage of teaching, by hearsay, by a collection of texts, by logic, by inferential reasoning, by reasoned cogitation, by the acceptance of a view after pondering it, by the seeming competence of a speaker, or because you think, ‘The ascetic is our teacher.’4 But when you know for yourselves, ‘These things are unwholesome; these things are blamable; these things are censured by the wise; these things, if undertaken and practiced, lead to harm and suffering,’ then you should abandon them.”
“Fortunately, getting hold of people’s garbage was a cinch. Indian detectives were much luckier than their counterparts in, say, America, who were forever rooting around in people’s dustbins down dark, seedy alleyways. In India, one could simply purchase an individual’s trash on the open market. All you had to do was befriend the right rag picker. Tens of thousands of untouchables of all ages still worked as unofficial dustmen and women across the country. Every morning, they came pushing their barrows, calling, “Kooray Wallah!” and took away all the household rubbish. In the colony’s open rubbish dump, surrounded by cows, goats, dogs and crows, they would sift through piles of stinking muck by hand, separating biodegradable waste from the plastic wrappers, aluminium foil, tin cans and glass bottles.”
“I realized that sharing does not necessarily mean the giving of money or goods; there are times that the greatest gift is to set aside one’s own troubles and listen, to care about another’s heartache.”
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