Becca

“In the folds and creases, I saw her history. Her skin was the diary of her soul. All the springs she had watched the flowers bloom. The summers she had stood before the moon and kissed its face. The autumns she had grown wiser. The winters that had frozen the initials of her name. Each wrinkle was a record of this and of every hour, minute, and second she had lived. All her secrets were written in her skin. The things she had asked God for. The things she had cursed the devil about. In such age before me, I saw only beauty.”
― Tiffany McDaniel, Betty

“There were many days when Simon was the only reason I got out of bed, his paws gently tapping my shoulder as the sun began to rise. There were many days when Simon was the only reason why I talked to a new person. There were many days when Simon was the only reason why I moved my body, why I got fresh air, why I laughed. He was propelling me forward, insisting I continue living my life, and he wasn’t even trying. It’s a dog’s instinct to live. To enjoy every day, to feel the sunshine. To exist in the moment. To feel joy without feeling embarrassed. To bark when they’re upset, or happy, or whatever emotion is currently flooding their brains. They live unencumbered, unrelenting, and the state of the world doesn’t matter. The way their bodies look doesn’t matter. The weather doesn’t matter, the season doesn’t matter.”
― Isabel Klee, Dogs, Boys, and Other Things I’ve Cried About

“But to love Frances was to be always saying goodbye to the girl Frances used to be and falling in love again with the girl Frances was becoming.”
― Taylor Jenkins Reid, Atmosphere