23 posts tagged “love”

Another crying fit, another "fight," one of those that consisted of Eve doing the only thing she knew how to in the face of adversity: running away. Rubbing and rubbing at the bruise-colored skin under her eyes, shining with tears, drops of tears clinging to the pink pads of her fingers. "This is right, for me," he whispered in the dark. "This is the most wonderful, the most right thing I’ve ever had in my life. This is who I want to be when I grow up." She cupped his dear face in her hands, his blue eyes liquid in the dark, and anointing the sensitive bit of skin behind his earlobes with the salt tears on her fingertips, she kissed him.  Holy, holy, holy.

"You never get to see the shooting stars."

A long pause while she looked over his shoulder into the night and felt his heart beating against her chest.

"Maybe I'm not supposed to have a wish."

"I'll say that I walked into a door."

"And they'll say, 'Oh honey, we all know that's code for "Mark hit me in the face."'"

"Exactly. No, wait...knowing me, they'll probably think I really walked into a door. So I'll just cut out the confusion and tell them you hit me in the face."

"And they'll say 'Oh honey, we all know that's code for "I walked into a door."'"

She cuddled up under the covers, pale and tired-looking, holding her book in one hand and her green eyes staring at him dolefully from above dark shadows that had appeared with her illness.  He held up the bottle of NyQuil, waggling it  entreatingly at her.  "Do you want the Green Death?"

"No," she pouted.

"Do you want me to get you chocolate milk?"

"No."

"Do you want chicken soup?"

"No!" she pulled the covers over her head.  "Stop asking me questions."

"What's the capital of North Dakota?"

"...Bismarck?" came the voice from under the blue comforter.  A pause, and then she popped her head back out, "I didn't even know that I knew that."

He grinned at her, and left to go get her some chicken soup.

"What are you doing with that?"

"I'm leaving it in the glove compartment.  No one is going to be calling me that I want to talk to."

"But...what if I want to call you?"

Several seconds of stupefied silence.

"But that doesn't even -- you'll be with me!  Why would you call me if you're --"

Wistfully, "Sometimes I just want to hear your voice."

"But --"

"Shhh."

"But you can --"

"Shhhhh," insistently.  A pause, and then wistfully, again.  "This isn't one of those times."

Maybe someday, she thought, licking the ice cream off her fingers, someday I shall tell him what he did in a past life to "deserve" this.  Though I'm not sure he'll like it better than what he's already thought of.

A real friend is the first person you think of when you see something funny.  "Oh!  I have to remember to tell her..."

A real friend is someone that can pick out all your faults, analyze them to death with you, and still love you in spite of them.

A real friend is someone who sticks up for you against a tide of negativity, even if the negative ones are people you also thought of as friends.

A real friend is someone who believes you before they believe other people, even if you aren't around to defend yourself.

A real friend is someone that brings out all your good qualities because you want to be that person for them.

A real friend is someone that can laugh with you through the most dire circumstances.

A real friend is someone that you can be an ocean away from for months at a time, and miss them terribly, but cherish every letter and word exchanged.

A real friend is someone you can pick up with after being away for ages, and feel like nothing has changed.

A real friend is someone you can count on to take you to the hospital in the middle of the night to check on your ailing boyfriend in the emergency room.

Real friends are the ones you hang on to, year after year. 
Real friends are the friends I have, the friends I've kept.
I am blessed beyond belief in the love of my dear friends.

Perhaps the reason I feel at home here, Persephone mused, is not that he has created a space for the Light, but that I belong to the Dark, and this is my home more than the flowers could ever be.

Exhausted (and useless) and crying, she blows her nose because he can't, sitting vigil by his bedside.  Crumpled tissues in her fists and tears in her eyes, she's trying not to wake him from the much-needed sleep. 

I am nothing, and I am useless, she thinks.  I have done nothing, and yet I've still somehow broken everything.  Her heart clutches because she knows it's true.  If he were awake and she were brave enough to voice these thoughts aloud, he would deny it with his dying breath, she knows. 

But he's not awake, and she'd never be brave enough to voice those traitorous thoughts aloud, and the chant keeps turning round in her head: I wasn't there, I wasn't there, he needed me and I wasn't there.  Thank God there was someone, because I'm completely useless. 

Exhausted (and useless) and crying, he is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen, and she'll harbour the hurt of her own ineffectuality secretly, though he hears her tears in his sleep.