“Open up for me Marianne. You want this. You want me to touch you. Don’t be afraid, bella. I want to feel you…and so, you want the same.”
“You – you make me burn like f-fire! I – did – not – know… it would be like this.”
“Open up for me Marianne. You want this. You want me to touch you. Don’t be afraid, bella. I want to feel you…and so, you want the same.”
“You – you make me burn like f-fire! I – did – not – know… it would be like this.”
“Love isn’t a state of perfect caring. It is an active noun, like struggle. To love someone is to strive to accept that person exactly the way he or she is, right here and now.” –Fred Rogers
Thank you Tarryn! I thank you immensely for sharing this fabulous story with us. 5 +++ stars!
“No one wants to carry someone when they are heavy from life”
“We are all going to die, but I’m going to die first. In the very last second of my life, I will think of you.”
“I didn’t know I needed someone to dig into my heart and figure out why on some days I wanted to play, and on others I craved solitude…It’s a painful thing to look inside yourself and see the whys and the hows of your clockwork. You are a lot uglier than you think, plenty more selfish than you are ever likely to admit. So, you ignore what’s inside of you. Thinking if you don’t acknowledge it, it’s not really there. Until someone unlikely comes along and cracks you. They see every dark corner, and they get it. And they tell you it’s okay to have dark corners, instead of making you feel ashamed of them.”
“Love doesn’t leave. It bears all things.”
Bear the emotions, the pain, and the tears then open a bottle of wine…trust me you’ll need it.
“Me? It didn’t matter what age I was or how much I thought I loved the wman. Marriage, rings, and vows were not created with people like me in mind.”
“The only reason why I paint you as misunderstood good guy is because that’s who you are. You’re the guy who shows up on his friend’s doorstep in the middle of the night if they call. You’re the guy who plays Cupid when his best friend almost lost the woman he loved. You’re the guy, Garth. You know it. And I’ve known it for a hell of a lot longer.”
“Choose me. Be mine. Be happy and find love with me.”
“Let’s touch. let’s make out. Let’s do all of those things you’ve held back from us doing.”
“But I wasn’t the best for her. How could I be she the only roof I had over my head was the cab of my old truck? How could I be what was best for her when I didn’t even know what was best for myself? How could I love her the way she deserved to be loved when my parents hadn’t shown me an ounce of it?
The answer to those and the other questions streaming through my head was simple – I couldn’t.”
“I couldn’t give her a chance because I didn’t have one to give. It’s too late.”
A week later we took our first trip into Seattle together. It was her idea. We rode in my car since she said she didn’t have one. She looked nervous sitting in the front seat with her hands folded in her lap. When I asked her if she wanted me to put the radio on she said no. We ate Russian pastries from paper bags and watched the ferries cross the sound, shivering and standing as close as we could get to each other. Our fingers were so greasy when we were done we had to rinse them off in a water fountain. She laughed when I splashed water in her face. I could have written another ten thousand words just from hearing her laugh. We bought five pounds of prawns from the market and headed back to my house. I don’t know why the hell I asked for five pounds, but it sounded like a good idea at the time.
“You have one of these,” I said, as we were cleaning the prawns together at my kitchen sink. I ran my finger laterally along its body, pointing out the dark line that needed to be cleaned out. She frowned, looking down at the prawn she was holding.
“It’s called a mud vein.”
“A mud vein,” she repeated. “Doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“Maybe not to some people.”
She de-headed her shrimp with a flick of her knife and tossed it in the bowl.
“It’s your darkness that pulls me in. Your mud vein. But sometimes having a mud vein will kill you.”
She set down the knife and washed her hands, drying them on the back of her jeans.
“I have to go.”
“Sure,” I said. I didn’t move until I heard the screen door slam. I wasn’t upset that my words had run her off. She didn’t like to be found out. But she’d be back.