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“Baz is touching me, and it's good. (Touching Baz is always good; it'd be easier if I could just touch him all the time. And kiss him. And not have to be kissed.)”
―
―
“I don’t think you’re supposed to raise it while you’re driving,” I say.
“But they always do it in music videos”—he yanks at the other side—“and Bond films.”
―
“But they always do it in music videos”—he yanks at the other side—“and Bond films.”
―
“Simon looks over at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“What?!” he shouts. He can’t hear a thing I’m saying over the wind and the engine and the classic rock.
“I hate this fucking car!” I shout back.
“The sun is burning me! I might actually catch fire, at any moment!” The wind is blowing Simon’s hair straight, and he’s squinting—from the sun and from all the smiling.
“What!” he shouts at me again.
“You’re so beautiful!” I shout back.
He turns the radio down, so now there’s just the wind and the engine noise to shout over.
“What’d you say?!”
“Nothing!”
―
“Nothing,” I say.
“What?!” he shouts. He can’t hear a thing I’m saying over the wind and the engine and the classic rock.
“I hate this fucking car!” I shout back.
“The sun is burning me! I might actually catch fire, at any moment!” The wind is blowing Simon’s hair straight, and he’s squinting—from the sun and from all the smiling.
“What!” he shouts at me again.
“You’re so beautiful!” I shout back.
He turns the radio down, so now there’s just the wind and the engine noise to shout over.
“What’d you say?!”
“Nothing!”
―
“Simon Snow, it hurts to look at you when you’re this happy.
And it hurts to look at you when you’re
depressed.
There’s no safe time for me to see you, nothing about you that doesn’t tear my heart from my chest and leave it breakable outside my body.”
― Wayward Son
And it hurts to look at you when you’re
depressed.
There’s no safe time for me to see you, nothing about you that doesn’t tear my heart from my chest and leave it breakable outside my body.”
― Wayward Son
“He looks away from me, covering his mouth.
“What are you laughing at.”
He looks down, but waves his hand at me. “You—your—”
I refuse to look down at myself. “My what, Snow?”
“Your hair.”
I refuse to touch my hair.
“You look like that guy, with the wig—” He mimes playing the piano. “Duh, duh, duh, duhhh.”
“Beethoven?”
“I don’t know his name. With the big wig. There was a film about him.”
“Mozart. You’re saying I look like Mozart.”
“You’ve got to look, Baz, it’s a scream.”
―
“What are you laughing at.”
He looks down, but waves his hand at me. “You—your—”
I refuse to look down at myself. “My what, Snow?”
“Your hair.”
I refuse to touch my hair.
“You look like that guy, with the wig—” He mimes playing the piano. “Duh, duh, duh, duhhh.”
“Beethoven?”
“I don’t know his name. With the big wig. There was a film about him.”
“Mozart. You’re saying I look like Mozart.”
“You’ve got to look, Baz, it’s a scream.”
―
zarish’s 2025 Year in Books
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