Words are Love

What is an “instant” death anyway? How long is an instant? Is it one second? Ten? The pain of those seconds must have been awful as her heart burst and her lungs collapsed and there was no air and no blood to her brain and only raw panic. What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.

Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

She was a constant reader, though, carrying a book everywhere, picked from the leaning tower of volumes by her side of the bed.

No relationship is ever a waste of your time. If it didn’t bring you what you want, it taught you what you didn’t want.

So - here’s the thing. I want to do a swap with someone. What’s a swap? Sending someone a box of goodies and a letter and receiving one in return and maybe continuing it every so often (not too often - whatever we’re comfortable with). I want to gift someone a box of goodies that’s going to make them feel happy or brighten their day. Stuff that they like that maybe isn’t available where they live. I’ve done it before and it was so much fun, but I’ve lost contact with those friends of mine. I would even consider doing two swaps with two different people. I just…would like to.

Since birth, I have been defined by numbers: inches, feet, pounds, grades, percentages. Does it ever stop?

A savage is not one who lives in the woods, but the one who destroys it.

Buying a book is not about obtaining a possession, but about securing a portal.