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I was a fool to ask. For now, even if that assurance came I should distrust it. I should think it a self-hypnosis induced by my own prayers.

On the rebound one passes into tears and pathos. Maudlin tears. I almost prefer the moments of agony. These are at least clean and honest. But the bath of self-pity, the wallow, the loathsome sticky-sweet pleasure of indulging it—that disgusts me. And even while I’m doing it I know it leads me to misrepresent H. herself.

...Something inside me tries to assure me that I don’t really mind so much, not so very much, after all. Love is not the whole of a man’s life. I was happy before I ever met H. I’ve plenty of what are called ‘resources.’ People get over these things. Come, I shan’t do so badly...Then comes a sudden jab of red-hot memory and all this ‘commonsense’ vanishes like an ant in the mouth of a furnace.

let me make this experience as painful as possible <3

He never said he’d have more time for me. Or that he’d try harder to make some for me. Or that he’d commit to me in any kind of new, more meaningful way. He only said that he loved me. Maybe it was just something he needed to get off his chest.

Let me know how beautiful I am…to him. To him. Always to him.

nearly the final stretch of the book and i'm still very confused on my overall stance on it so far, lmao

And I laugh through my tears to try to be more lighthearted and I look at him while I’m laugh-crying with snot dribbling into my mouth and I say:
“Don’t be concerned. This is good. This is great. This is what I want.”

well damn

“You’re usually so understanding,” he says, his face settled with a milky look of concern.
It’s a masterfully chosen phrase, a way of pinning the problem back onto me

haha ok

He thrusts into my solid rage, over and over, every pump puncturing it, making it weep like a bad blister.

"...I’ve been managing my mom’s emotions since I was five. I don’t spend my days worrying about what house party I’m gonna get wasted at, I worry about if water’s gonna come out of the faucet the next time I turn it on. If my mom’s gonna be bedridden from a breakup and I’m gonna have to drop everything in my life to be there for her so she doesn’t spiral so bad she loses another job. None of that’s age-appropriate.”

...jesus christ? how do i even react to that?

*shuffles into goodreads like a guilty child*

rereading tsh because it's october and im missing good (published) literature

Then, knowing:
The moon does not get sad. Or at least, not because of that.
Of that, the moon is terribly proud.

She says, He likes the pancakes, he should have more.
& what would she say if she could
say, be more? & what am I looking for, exactly? Do I look at her, the way she would like? Have I said I love you recently—the exact words, yes, but what about the exact foods? Couldn’t we ask each other for more?

"But the sorrow is held by your heart now, your own
exquisite machine that seems finally to contain it.
Then even your most stubborn muscle grows weary, & sends it
whirling through your bloodstream & your blood carries it,
everywhere in your body at once, so there is no more moving.
So you sit, on the floor of the toy store, like the end
of an avalanche, each rock, tree, & small wish of you
crushed, heaped."

"I’m sorry, I meant for this to be
an ode, a love letter, & it is, I swear,
but the ways you’d been treated—I knew I
couldn’t, on top of all that, lie to you. I didn’t
intend to meet you & you yourselves were
probably hoping for better. But isn’t this
how it happens? Aren’t all great
love stories, at their core,
great mistakes?"

"I tried to enrage God by saying things like When I asked
my mother about you, she was in the middle of making dinner
so she just said Too busy. I tried to confuse God by saying I am
a made-up dinosaur & a real dinosaur & who knows maybe
I love you, but then God ended up relating to me. God said I am
a good dinosaur but also sort of evil & sometimes loving no one."

wow. just wow.

But despite all the hell-raising and destruction and chaos he had created in our lives, I could not imagine what my life would be likewhat the world would be likewithout him in it. As awful as he could be, I always knew he loved me in a way no one else ever had.

"I fell asleep only to be woken at first light by Brian, who, like Mom, wasn't an early riser."

oh my shayla :(

"I'm not upset because I'll miss you," Mom said. "I'm upset because you get to go to New York and I'm stuck here. It's not fair."

"I'll never get out of here," Lori kept saying. "I'll never get out of here."

i read that the older sisters glasses for supposed short-sightedness made her eyes bug out and couldn't stop thinking about for twenty pages. that's not how myopic lenses work-

am i cooked...

excited!! i've been wanting to read his books for multiple years at this point