I ramble a lot

I can feel printed words seeping through my skin and into my veins, rushing to my heart and marking it forever. I want to savor this wonder, this happening of loving a book and reading it for the first time is always the best, and I will never read this book for the first time ever again.

I've loved him my whole life, and somewhere along the way, that love didn't change but grew. It grew to fill the parts of me that I did not have when I was a child. It grew with every new longing in my body and desire in my heart until there was not a piece of me that did not love him. And when I look at him, there is no other feeling in me.

"I decided I wanted you," he said simply, but the words barely made their way out from between his teeth. "I saw you, and... and I felt..." He winced, as if the word stung. Felt. What did a demon feel? "Not anger. Not hatred or fury. You.. You're the light in the dark, and I've been in the dark a very long time."

His mark on my leg scarred too, but that was one scar I didn't want to remove. He would trace it with his fingers, kiss it with his mouth, murmur the filthiest things as he ran his tongue across it. It was his mark of ownership, one only I could give him. A willing promise. My soul was his to take, to love, to own - forever.

I love him in a way I cannot define, as if my love were an organ within my body that I could not live without yet could not pick out of an anatomy book,

He was monstrous, but he was mine. And I was his, as surely as if he'd already claimed my soul. I'd spent so many years chasing darkness, reaching out for it, calling to it, and now I'd sunk into it. It had embraced me and I didn't want it any other way. The darkness was sharp, but, God, it was warm. It was terrifying, but it was safe. The darkness was a demon leaning over me with fire in his eyes, whispering, "You're mine, baby."

"And yet, that's what heartbreak feels like; it's having someone reach into your chest and tear the organ from your body, except they don't use any tools or care to make it a clean extraction. They yank and twist until it pops free, leaving all the broken muscle and tissue behind, veins spilling with nowhere else to pump into. It's visceral, creeps outward, testing the waters to see how much you can take."

"All the ways I'd worship her tight, perfect body if given the chance. How I'd drag her to the depths of Hell but convince her she'd gone to Heaven, using my tongue to write wordless poetry on her sensitive, swollen flesh."

"You taught me that. All those poems you left me over the years showed me that art, especially the written kind, exists inside us. Either you are poetry, or you aren't. You can't fake it. Can't fake the things you feel in the very thread of your soul."

The last two months have been hell, but I’m going to be active again. Sharing my favorite quotes from the books I read is fun for me. I tend to forget passages I really enjoyed, so I list them here for others to find. 

You make me feel driven. You make me hungry and on fire and wanting to slow down time instead of wanting to rush through it. It's you I look for when I walk in the doors in the morning. Not her. You.

She can be a nightmare, but this still feels better than any dream.

Nothing else matter. If it killed us, she was the one. In that moment, I didn’t care about her sins, if anyone else had touched her besides me, or that we were both our own worst enemies. That was my girl, scarred, tattered soul, and all. She was beautiful.

Our love always had a pulse. Sometimes it was faint. Sometimes it was beating so hard I couldn't hear anything else. But it would never die. It can't. I won't let it.

That's the thing about broken people, Guillaume. If we ever give you our heart, then you know that you deserve it."

Don’t be a Rosie. Be a Dean. If you want something, no matter what it is, go for it. Falling in love is rare. Don’t give up this precious gift. Chase it. Catch it. Hold it close. Don’t let it go. And if it leaves anyway… fight for it.