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The movies make the brooding guy the hero _ the guy with problems the guy who carries a gun, the gun with unresolved anger, the guy with a chip on his shoulder, the guy who__ a vampire _ and they tell you that you can have the mythical happy ending with that same brooding guy. But in reality, the brooding guy is cranky. He doesn__ reply to emails. He doesn__ call. He__ only half there when you__e talking to him, and he doesn__ chase you when you run. You feel insecure all the time. You get needy and sad and you hate yourself got being needy. If you don__ know why he__ brooding, you__e shut out.And if you do know why he__ brooding, you__e still shut out. (Because he__ busy brooding.)
E. Lockhart Real Live Boyfriends: Yes. Boyfriends, Plural. If My Life Weren't Complicated, I Wouldn't Be Ruby Oliver
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The movies make the brooding guy the hero _ the guy with problems the guy who carries a gun, the gun with unresolved anger, the guy with a chip on his shoulder, the guy who__ a vampire _ and they tell you that you can have the mythical happy ending with that same brooding guy. But in reality, the brooding guy is cranky. He doesn__ reply to emails. He doesn__ call. He__ only half there when you__e talking to him, and he doesn__ chase you when you run. You feel insecure all the time. You get needy and sad and you hate yourself got being needy. If you don__ know why he__ brooding, you__e shut out.And if you do know why he__ brooding, you__e still shut out. (Because he__ busy brooding.)
EL
E. Lockhart

Real Live Boyfriends: Yes. Boyfriends, Plural. If My Life Weren't Complicated, I Wouldn't Be Ruby Oliver

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You know what I love? The spaces between I love you. The tap of your fork against the plate and how my cup of wine clicks against our table. The scratchy voice coming from the radio in the other room. The quiet sound of your hand reaching across the table and whispering over mine. How your voice sounds like your mouth on the back of my neck. The soft murmur of our easy conversation.Between these quiet Tuesday night routines, following every comma and right after every pause for breath, is I, love, and you. In the middle of every I love you is a sink full of dishes, whisper of socked feet tangled in white sheets, and gentle kisses against curved cheeks. We lyric ourselves into the laundry that needs to be finished, into the ends of every smile that follows me repeating your name. We write ourselves into the grocery bags we need to carry, the cracks running up our rented walls, the sides of the bed we choose to drag up the sails of heavy eyed dreams.Like the spaces between our fingers, in the spaces between I, love, and you, we wait.The in-betweens have always been my favorite.

MK
Marlen Komar

Ugly People Beautiful Hearts