Tim and Lucy in The Rookie

“Darkness rises and light to meet it...”

Kissing Amy by the side of the road (if you could call it only that) had put a smile on Cass’s face for the rest of the week, the memory of it bringing a pleasured warmth to his chest at the oddest times. His father’s barb about Greer’s purchase, tossed at him as he was about to leave the house, didn’t even hurt as much as it could have. No, they hadn’t talk about what it meant, but that didn’t matter. Hearing her say she didn’t regret it was enough for him, an assurance that he kept close to him. He’d tentatively reached out to her about checking out a beach bar he’d heard of, and when she’d agreed to meet him there another rush of pleasure ran through him.

His blue eyes traveled over the wooden structure now, a salty breeze whispering in on the wind. The sun hung low in the sky, laying its gaze on a beach bar with a blue and burgundy color scheme, lights hung up around the outside and indoor area. A black v-neck hugged his broad shoulders and big arms, a well fitting pair of jeans on his legs, blonde hair hanging a bit over his brow. His golden scruff was trimmed, though still dusting his strong chin, framing lips that grew into a smile when catching sight of his dinner companion. “Hi Amy,” Cass husked out, pushing back from his seat to greet her more fully. He wants to give her a huge to greet her, but isn’t sure if that would be okay, one hand going up to nervously pull through his hair, eyes drinking her in.

a passage from The Picture of Dorian Gray, before & after censorship by Wilde’s editors

Rupert Grint + flying cars

E aí, no meio disso tudo, me bateu um medo: de te reencontrar e não sentir o mesmo. Mas aí eu lembrei que com você é diferente. Com você, mesmo as mudanças não mudam o que eu senti. Ainda assim… sei lá. Tô feliz por você. Sinto que você tá bem, e meu coração fica tranquilo com isso. Quando a saudade aperta de verdade, eu releio aquela carta. A rosa. Kkkkk eu odeio rosa, mas agora… a droga da carta virou abrigo. Engraçado como, quando tudo acaba, a gente só guarda o que toca de verdade — mesmo que o que reste seja só um papel com perfume, teimando em sobreviver entre letras borradas.

Espero que você tenha gostado do livro. Eu fiquei morrendo de medo de você não curtir… mas também torci pra que ele te viciasse em leitura, apesar de saber que você sempre foi mais apaixonada por vivências do que por histórias. Enfim… te amo, pedacinho. Obrigada por ser esse pontinho de magia que ainda existe no mundo. E, confesso: ainda sinto uma pontinha de inveja de quem divide momentos com você. Mesmo que seja só num “bom dia”, ou numa daquelas histórias que você conta toda empolgada. Sinto falta da sua energia contagiante.