heartbreak

Stuart needs "space" and "time," as if this were physics and not a human relationship.

He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It__ his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.

...we named her Dorothy Ann. Dolly, for short. I kissed her warily, fearful of the pain of loving her, love her, though love her I did; fearful lest she hurt me by dying.

You__e thinking, maybe it would be easier to let it sliplet it gosay __ give up_ one last time and give him a sad smile.You__e thinkingit shouldn__ be this hard,shouldn__ be this dark,thinkinglove could flow easily with no holding backand you__e seen others find their match and build something greattogether,of each other,like two halves fitting perfectly and now they achieve great thingsone by one, always together, and it seems grand.But you love him. Love him like a black stone in your chest you couldn__ live without because it fits in there. Makes you who you are and the thought of him gone__o more__akes your chest tighten up and maybe this is your fairytale. Maybe this is your castle.You could get it all on a shiny piece of glass with wooden stools and a neverending blooming gardenbut that__ not yours. This is yours. The cracks and the faults, the ugly words in the winterwalking home alone and angrybut falling asleep thinking you love him.This is your fairy tale. The quiet in the hallway, wishing for him to turn around, tell you to stay, tell you to please don__ go I need youlike you need meand maybe it__ not a Jane Austen novel but this is your novel and your castleand you can run from it your whole life but this is herein front of you.Maybe nurture it?Sweet girl, maybe close the world off and look at him for an houror two.This is your fairy. It ain__ perfect and it ain__ honey sweet with roses on the bed.It__ real and raw and ugly at times. But this is your love. Don__ throw it away searching for someone else__ love. Don__ be greedy. Instead, shelter it. Protect it. Capture every second of easy, pull through every storm of hardship. And when you can, look at him, lying next to you, trusting you not to harm him. Trusting you not to go. Be someone__ someone for someone.Be that someone for him.That__ your fairy tale. This is your castle.Now move in. Build a home. Build a house. Build a safety around things you love. It__ yours if you make it so.Welcome home, sweet girl, it will be all be fine.

It's a shame you left without a word, you know. She was just beginning to trust you before that. Before you got angry. Before you ran off. Just like every other man in her life. Lusting after her, full of sweet words, then just walking away. Leaving her alone. Good thing she's used to it by now, isn't it? Otherwise you might have hurt her. Otherwise you just might have broken that poor girl's heart

Love is not a thing you can pick up and throw into the gutter and pick up again as the fancy takes you. I am a person, very unfortunately for you, with a quite peculiar dread of thrusting myself or my affections on any one, of in any way outstaying my welcome. The man I would love would be the man I could trust to love me for ever. I do not trust you. I did outstay my welcome once. I did get thrown into the gutter, and came near drowning in that sordid place.

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted her his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

When we are in love, we are convinced nobody else will do. But as time goes, others do do, and often do do, much much better.

Water is peaceful. I am at rest. In thewater, I am safe and pulled in where Ican__ get out. Everything slows down__he noise and the racing of my thoughts.

Growth in love comes from a place of absence, where the imagination is left to it__ own devices and creates you to be much more then reality would ever allow.

If love is like driving a car, then I must be the worst driver in the world. I missed all the signs and ended up lost.

I don't like forgetting, Elías," I said with my eyes closed. A single tear slipped down my cheek and I let it. "I don't want to forget these moments that constantly remind me of who I am, who I was, and who you are. I don't want to forget my past and all the things about this world that's brought me here. With you.""So then why do you try?" he asked, his gaze searching my face. "Be here with me, T. Exist with me, because there isn't any other way I'd love you more.""I-I don't belong to you.""Bullshit. You've belonged to me since that night on the alabaster hill. I had you then, and I swore to keep you.""You-""Just stop." Eli placed a finger to my lips as he held me closely and slid a hand down my back. He palmed my shoulder and the place where a piece of him would forever harbor. "Stop making up excuses. Stop hiding. Stop running from me. You're the light at the end of my tunnel, my saving grace, and you don't even know it, Trinity.

It's as if he can no longer acknowledge the love he felt or the pain I am in. I have been dismissed. I don't think I was smarter or as beautiful as the other girls he did this to. It's just that I was me. It was all I had.

I think maybe, when I was very young, I witnessed a chaste cheek kiss between the two when it was impossible to avoid. Christmas, birthdays. Dry lips. On their best married days, their communications were entirely transactional: 'We're out of milk again.' (I'll get some today.) 'I need this ironed properly.' (I'll do that today.) 'How hard is it to buy milk?' (Silence.) 'You forgot to call the plumber.' (Sigh.) 'Goddammit, put on your coat, right now, and go out and get some goddamn milk. Now.' These messages and orders brought to you by my father, a mid-level phonecompany manager who treated my mother at best like an incompetent employee.

The light in that room was a glow; I seem to remember the color green, or perhaps flowers. A pale green sheet covered his inert body but not his head, which lay (eyes closed, mouth set in a tense and terrible grimace) unmoving. Gianluca. Barely able to see, barely able to stand - my knees kept buckling _ and breathing so quietly I thought that I, too, might die; that out of shock, I would just drift away, the shell of my body cracking open. No longer anchored by my brother__ love, I would be reabsorbed by sky. Gianluca. If there was never another sound in the world, I would understand _ yes, that would be appropriate, it would be fitting. This was the antithesis of music, the antithesis of noise. My brother__ death seemed to demand silence of all the world. Gianluca.

Rain is a lullaby heard through a thick, isolating blanket of clouds. It is the tinkling harp of water droplets; a moist breath whistling through willow reeds; a pattering beat background to the mourner's melody. Rain is a soft song of compassion for the brokenhearted.

Sometimes I can feel my darkness, like a fragment of nerves inside of me somewhere, sparking my hate. I picture it moving throughout my body, the other cells letting it pass by, yielding to its master. It moves to my tongue when it wants me to spew beautiful, damaging words, it moves to my hands when it wants me to feel all it can take away, and it moves to my eyes to blind me from truly seeing the destruction I__e done.

She could have risen from the ashes. Instead, she smoldered in the embers.