naz

“You seem hard to hold, I guess. Your attention."

He took a moment to reply. "That might be true, usually. But you hold mine.”
― Marie Rutkoski, The Midnight Lie

“I want you to stay in the city for a month."

"Why?"

Because I would miss you. Because I am not ready to let you go.”
― Marie Rutkoski, The Midnight Lie

“We'll look like a couple."

"Do you want that?"

Truth can demand so much bravery. I did not feel brave. I would not have been brave, if her question hadn't sounded a little hopeful. Yes, I wanted everyone to think she belonged with me, that I belonged with her. Yes, even if it was only for one night. My voice was small. "I do.”
― Marie Rutkoski, The Midnight Lie

“He steps back, still looking. In the painting, Willem's torso is directed toward the viewer, but his face is turned to the right so that he is almost in profile, and he is leaning towards something or someone and smiling. And because he knows Willem's smiles, he knows that Willem has been captured looking at something he loves, he knows Willem in that instant is happy. Willem's face and neck dominate the canvas and although the background is suggested rather than shown, he knows that Willem is at their table. He knows it from the way that JB has drawn the light and shadows on Willem's face. He has the sense that if he says Willem's name that the face in the painting will turn toward him and answer; he has the sense that if he stretches his hand out and strokes the canvas he will feel beneath his fingertips Willem's hair, his fringe of eyelashes.
But he doesn't do this, of course, just looks up at last and sees JB smiling at him, sadly. "The title card's been mounted already," JB says, and he goes slowly to the wall behind the painting and sees its title - "Willem Listening to Jude Tell a Story, Greene Street"-and he feels his beneath abandon him; it feels as if his heart is made of something oozing and cold, like ground meat, and it is being squeezed inside a fist so that chunks of it are falling, plopping to the ground near his feet.”
― Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life