Windfall

There's a space between forgetting and moving on, and it's not easy to find.

How many times can a life be split into a before and an after?

It's not easy, you know? To get the thing you want most in the world in the worst way possible.

This," I say softly, "is going to change everything." I don't mean it the way I usually do. I don't mean that change is hard or scary, though it's definitely both. I mean only to say this: that sometimes, through good luck or bad, through curses or fate, the world cracks itself open, and afterward nothing will ever be the same. All I mean is that this seems like one of those times.

The card is in his hand and I can almost see the words from here, though I've been carrying them around with me for so long that I don't need reminding. They're like a second heartbeat, steady and painful and true: I love you, I love you, I love you.

Don't screw it up for yourself. If it's gonna happen, at least let the universe do it for you.

Now his story has shifted. He's no longer the underdog. Instead he's suddenly the luckiest guy in the room, in the school, maybe even in the whole city. He's the luckiest guy anybody knows, and there's no need to root for someone like that to win. Because guys like that—lucky guys, fortunate guys—they don't need any support. And the audience knows it.

It's because you're thinking big picture. That'll knock the wind out of you every time. You have to take it in pieces.

Numbers are shifty things. They rarely tell the whole story.

It hasn’t been easy, loving him; it’s like a dull throb, constant and persistent as a toothache, and there’s no real cure for it.

I’d kind of forgotten that.” “What?” “That they used to fight a lot. That they weren’t perfect.” “I don’t suppose it would help to tell you that nobody is.” “I know. People are just people.

I don’t know if it’ll work out with you guys. Not everyone is that lucky. But don’t screw it up for yourself. If it’s gonna happen, at least let the universe do it for you.

Most terrible things that happen are out of your control. So it makes no sense to add some of your own.

They weren’t perfect. They were just like anyone else. They fought and failed and disappointed each other. They were frustrated and tired they snapped and groaned and muttered. But they also laughed and teased and joked. They felt deeply and cared hugely. They tried to leave their mark on the world, with no idea they’d have so little time to do it.

It’s not a crime, you know.” “What?” “That your head and your heart are in two different places.

I know it’s hard for you to talk about him. It is for me too. But… it’s also getting hard for me to remember him sometimes. And that’s so much worse.

…I’m also thinking that nearness can be awful too. Being so close to someone you love without them knowing it. That’s another kind of terrible.

We have all sorts of words that could describe us. But we get to choose which ones are most important.

And being part of something – really part of it – means it can be taken away. It means you have something to lose. And I’ve already lost way too much.

My thoughts are scrambled by the nearness of him, and my chest aches with something deeper than love, something lonelier than hope.

Still, it doesn’t seem like all that much to ask: that the boy I love might love me back.

Sometimes it feels like if I wish for it hard enough, it might just come true. But I know that’s not the way it works. Life doesn’t bend to anyone’s will. And it doesn’t run on credit either. Just because the world stole something from me doesn’t mean it owes me anything. And just because I’ve stockpiled a whole lot of bad luck doesn’t mean I’m due anything good.

And at a bookstore he plucked a copy of The Bell Jar out of my hands. “I heard that one’s really sad,” he said, handing me Little Women instead. I raised an eyebrow. “And you think this one’s happy?” “Why?” he asked, alarmed. “It’s not?

When you move, it’s like your life gets split in two. So you never really feel at home in either place.

Just because the world stole something from me doesn’t mean it owes me anything. And just because I’ve stockpiled a whole lot of bad luck doesn’t mean I’m due anything good.

It’s not that you’re actually an island, Alice. It’s just that you still act like one. And nobody can change that but you.

And being part of something -- really part of it -- means it can be taken away. It means you have something to lose.

Life doesn't bend to anyone's will. And it doesn't run on credit either.