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“Our eyes meet, and something dangerous sparks.
He hates you, I remind myself.
“Kiss me again,” he says, drunk and foolish. “Kiss me until I am sick of it.”
I feel those words, feel them like a kick to the stomach. He sees my expression and laughs, a sound full of mockery. I can’t tell which of us he’s laughing at.
He hates you. Even if he wants you, he hates you.
Maybe he hates you the more for it.
After a moment, his eyes flutter closed. His voice falls to a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself. “If you’re the sickness, I suppose you can’t also be the cure.”
He drifts off to sleep, but I am wide awake.”
― The Wicked King
He hates you, I remind myself.
“Kiss me again,” he says, drunk and foolish. “Kiss me until I am sick of it.”
I feel those words, feel them like a kick to the stomach. He sees my expression and laughs, a sound full of mockery. I can’t tell which of us he’s laughing at.
He hates you. Even if he wants you, he hates you.
Maybe he hates you the more for it.
After a moment, his eyes flutter closed. His voice falls to a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself. “If you’re the sickness, I suppose you can’t also be the cure.”
He drifts off to sleep, but I am wide awake.”
― The Wicked King
“You deserve someone better than me. Someone young and idealistic…someone who can experience things for the first time along with you. I'm not always kind, and I have more faults than I'd care to name. All I can promise is that I'll want you until my last breath.”
― Because You're Mine
― Because You're Mine
“In the silence of night I have often wished for just a few words of love from one man, rather than the applause of thousands of people.”
―
―
“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers,
but to be fearless in facing them.
Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but
for the heart to conquer it.”
― Collected Poems and Plays of Rabindranath Tagore
but to be fearless in facing them.
Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but
for the heart to conquer it.”
― Collected Poems and Plays of Rabindranath Tagore
“He pressed his face into the fabric and breathed in slowly through his mouth and nose, hoping for the faintest smoke and mountain sage and salty sweet stink of Jack but there was no real scent, only the memory of it, the imagined power of Brokeback Mountain of which nothing was left but what he held in his hands.”
― Brokeback Mountain
― Brokeback Mountain
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