There was only the kind of silence that comes when someone takes away a clock to be repaired and after a time you become aware of its absence because its gentle, reassuring tick is gone.

And he loves her. He loves her like he can never grab enough of her between his fingers. And no matter how close he gets, even when they make love, it never feels close enough, like her flesh and her bones keep something sacred in them, hidden from him.

Never apologize for how you feel. No one can control how they feel. The sun doesn’t apologize for being the sun. The rain doesn’t say sorry for falling. Feelings just are

Just read a book I was recommended by a new friend. Intentional Dissonance by Iain s. Thomas. I was expecting it to be like a puzzle where all of a sudden the pieces click together. Instead I felt like a was solving a rubix cube and just as I was about to finish it A FUCKING PLANE HIT ME-

Never apologize for how you feel. No one can control how they feel. The sun doesn’t apologize for being the sun. The rain doesn’t say sorry for falling. Feelings just are.

She reminds him of every good day he’s ever had. Every summer spent in fields of grass. Every sunrise. Every sunset. She tastes like dew and smells like light. And when she speaks, it’s like someone slowly plucking the strings of a guitar, a sadly beautiful song starting to play, all his own. And he loves her.