“Life isn’t a linear journey. Sometimes it’s one step backwards, two steps forward and then a jump out to the side. It’s kind of like the “Time Warp”, when you think about it.
Life follows many directions and hopefully, eventually, your mind and body and life and love, all catch up with each other.”
“Life leaves scars. Sometimes you don’t see them until later. Sometimes you don’t know where they’ve come from. Sometimes they fade before your eyes. But the world leaves its mark on us.”
“It’s okay to want me, you know,” Linden says thickly.
My stomach quivers. I manage to shake my head and now his fingers are trailing behind my neck, running into the base of my hair and another shiver escapes down my back.
“Since when is it ever okay to want your best friend?” I say softly, nearly choking on the words. Because that’s what he is, that’s what he’s always been.
He smiled gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Isn’t that the best person to want? The person that knows you inside and out. The person who has seen you at your ugliest and most beautiful and still wants to be with you. The person who believes in you and has your back, no matter what.”
“I feel myself getting buried in what we are, what we make each other feel and I don’t care. It’s so good. What we have, what we feel is so fucking good.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
He reaches for my hand and pulls me to him. “You are not going to lose me,” he says, peering down at me. “I promise.”
I want to believe him so badly. I need to believe him. “What if you lose me?”
He smiles at me, his grip hard. “Then I’ll just hold on tighter.”
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m falling in love with her. Sometimes I wonder how long I can pretend I’m not.”
“I think I’m losing myself,” I whisper to her after we’ve come, our bodies naked, sweaty and sated, limbs draped over limbs, hands holding onto hands. My throat feels thick, my breath heavy, my words weigh a ton. “Every time I’m inside you, with you, I think I lose a little bit more.” I turn my head to the side to look at her. She’s staring at me with big, wet eyes so full of everything I could ever want from her. “In the end you might have all my pieces,” I tell her. “Please be gentle with them.”
“But I loved you. Never as a friend. Always as something more. From the moment you walked into the bar, you owned the word and what it meant for me. I prayed and I dreamed that one day I would get to tell you myself. That no matter how you felt, I would tell you that I loved you and nothing could change that. That it was mine to give to you.” He inhales deeply and says, “And so, I love you, baby blue. I am in love with you. You are love to me. And I’m honored I’m finally able to tell you.”
“You’re my everything. And there’s nothing that will change that.”
“Nine years. I’ve been waiting nine years for this. Nine years to finally have you the way I’ve always needed you.”
“I’d give her up for you,” I tell her, staring at her relentlessly until she’s forced to meet my eyes again, if just for a second. “I’d give up everything for you.”
“That was real. That was something. Tell me you felt something, that you felt what I felt.”
“I’m nowhere but I’m somewhere and it’s not where I want to be. I don’t really know what I want. But I know I don’t have it.”
“Sometimes, when he looks at me, I can swear something in him has changed. The glances are more intense, his eyes seem molten and charged. Sexual.
And I like it. I love it. I want it. I want there to be this change, for this to be a thing because then maybe, maybe I would act on it. Maybe I would take that chance and turn him into something more than a friend.”
“The free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it.”
“Don’t go all mushy on me,” I warn him, half-kidding. “Baby,” he says, kissing my chin and pressing his weight on me. “Have you felt how hard I am? There ain’t a mushy bone in me.”
“I am anger reborn and frustration unjustified. I am brutal hate and cold, dead winter. I am turning, tumbling in despair and there is no light, no warmth, no world, no heart.”
“It’s true what they say about red-headed chicks, you know, they all have a wee bit of crazy in them.”
“I want to make her cheeks flush from my dirty mouth and her body squirm with desire.”
“I want to be the best and her only.”
“I’d kiss you right now if I could, if the whole world wasn’t watching. Right on the lips. So hot and sweet you’d think I was honey. I’d make you want to drown in it.”
“If it’s wrong to occasionally ogle your best friend, I don’t want to be right.”
“Time heals all wounds, or at least it causes them to scab.”
“I’m going to relish every inch of your body until you’re begging for release. Then, I’m going to fuck you so hard, so good, that you’ll still feel me inside you days later.”
“She’s mad but she’s magic. There is no lie in her fire.” I read the right one. “The free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it.”
“In fact, sometimes she looks at me in this way I can’t really describe but it does things to my heart. It warms me up, from head to toe and my chest is the epicenter. I just want to bottle that look and hold onto forever, open it on a cold, foggy day and feel bright and alive all over again.”
“All of this, you and me, is brand new, you’re right. Let’s just take this one small step at a time.”
“These small steps include sex, right?”
“I want to tell her all the filthy things I think about, be real, raw and unfiltered. I want to make her cheeks flush from my dirty mouth and her body squirm with desire.”
“You look like a Disney Princess.” “A Disney Princess?” “Yeah,” he whispers roughly. “One of those princesses who look like they might give you a BJ if you play your cards right but in the end she probably won’t.”
“No matter how badly you push it away and ignore it, the pain of loss never really goes away.”
“I’d lost everything I had. I didn’t have the heart to take from someone else.” “Plus I would’ve sniped your ass.”
“Pulling his hand back from my face, Trey tenses. “Inamorata is feminine. I would be your inamorato, your male lover.”
“Arab-Jewish relations in the Old City had always been good. Most of the property in the quarter was Arab-owned, and one of its familiar sights was the Arab rent collector making his way from house to house, pausing in each for the rent and a ritual cup of coffee. Here the Islamic respect for men of religion had been naturally extended to the quarter's scholars in their yeshivas. As for the quarter's poor artisans and shopkeepers, the most natural of bonds, poverty, tied them to their Arab neighbors.”
“Good writing takes advantage of a reader’s expectations of where to go next. It accompanies the reader on a journey, or arranges the material in a logical sequence (general to specific, big to small, early to late), or tells a story with a narrative arc.”
“That is the problem with gifts, Madar-jan. They are always given away.”
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