patrochilles

“I might mess this up,” he says, clearing his throat as he pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket. He starts to sing, softly. “I love you, a bushel and a peck—” “Go away. I’m being stupid,” I blubber as I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, shaking my head. “A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.” Abby’s song. He’s singing Abby’s song. The tears start rolling down my face faster than I can catch them as I watch his deep-blue eyes, focused on reading every lyric off that crumpled piece of paper. I feel like my heart might burst, I’m feeling so many things at once. “My gran used to sing us that song. I never loved it, but Abby did.”
― Rachael Lippincott, Five Feet Apart

“He is half of my soul, as the poets say.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake loving him in silence.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“We need that touch from the one we love, almost as much as we need air to breathe. I never understood the importance of touch, his touch . . . until I couldn’t have it.”
― Rachael Lippincott, Five Feet Apart