It's funny how you can forget everything except people loving you. Maybe that's why humans find it so hard getting over love affairs. It's not the pain they're getting over, it's the love.
I didn't realize until those few days how much a hug meant. To have someone hold you could be the greatest medicine of all.
My father took one hundred and thirty-two minutes to die.
Even five minutes of your time can make someone's day.
The depression belongs to all of us. I think of the family down the road whose mother was having a baby and they went around the neighborhood saying, "We're pregnant." I want to go around the neighborhood saying, "We're depressed." If my mum can't get out of bed in the morning, all of us feel the same. Her silence has become ours, and it's eating us alive.
When one is silent, those around speak even more.
Our spirit is mightier than the filth of our memories.
Do something that scares you everyday.
My body becomes a raft and there's this part of me that wants just literally to go with the flow. To close my eyes and let it take me. But I know sooner or later I will have to get out, that I need to feel the earth beneath my feet, between my toes - the splinters, the bindi-eyes, the burning sensation of hot dirt, the sting of cuts, the twigs, the bites, the heat, the discomfort, the everything. I need desperately to feel it all, so when something wonderful happens, the contrast will be so massive that I will bottle the impact and keep it for the rest of my life.
Be prepared for the worst, my love, for it lives next door to the best.
About my first memory, sitting on the shoulders of a giant who I know can only be my father. Of touching the sky. Of lying between two people who read me stories of wild things and journeys with dragons, the soft hum of their voices speaking of love and serenity. See, I remember love.
I still wake with your name on my lips every morning.
She asked me what type of contraceptive I use. Underwear. Keeping it on prevents pregnancy.
See them together and you will feel a force that will take your breath away.
Just ask how I'm feeling, I want to say. Just ask and I may tell you. But no one does.
What is it? A prize or something? No. It's not a prize and I'm not a prize. But it's mine. It belongs to me and I can only give it away once, and I want to be so sure when it happens. I don't want to say that the first time for me was bad or it didn't mean a thing.
Phaedra shook her head. “If your people mean no offense, they should not speak their thoughts out loud in front of their children, Tesadora. Because it will be their children who come to slaughter us one day, all because of careless words passed down by their elders who meant no harm.
A piece of me is gone," she told me once while we were bra shopping. "I think we're made up of all these different pieces and every time someone goes, you're left with less of yourself.
Somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.
I never thought meeting you would be this boring. I thought we'd put our Italian emotion into gear and scream the place down. I never expected indifference.
I think if I'm ever asked to recall what Year 12 was all about, I'll remember it as one big cappuccino experience.
And life goes on, which seems kind of strange and cruel when you're watching someone die.
We spoke about our dreams and how we always felt safe in them, no matter how bad everthing else seemed. He told me it was one of the best days of his life and then he took out his gun. A .22 rifle. And he leaned forward and whispered, "Forgive me, Taylor Markham." Before I could ask how he knew my name and what I was to forgive him for he said, "Take care of my little girl." And then he told me to close my eyes. And I've been frightened to do just that ever since.
I recognise Santangelo's dad, who saves police brutality for when he gets to his son.
I ran away one day. He was running in the same direction.
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