None of us is ever OK, but we all get through everything just fine.
Some bridges you crossed on your own, no matter who drove you to the edge
Love can conquer everything but reality. Which will win every stinking time.
As always, Blay was the anchor who kept him from being swept away.
V rolled the Aquafina bottle between his palms. "How long have you wanted to ask me the question? About the gay thing. " "For a while. " "Afraid of what I'd say?" "Nope, because it doesn't matter to me one way or the other. I'm tight with you whether you like males or females or both. " V looked into his best friend's eyes and realized… yeah, Butch wasn't going to judge him. They were cool no matter what. With a curse, V rubbed the center of his chest and blinked. He never cried but he felt as if he could at this moment.
When she didn't continue, he shrugged. "Just let me bring you coffee. I want to wait on you. Makes me happy
And bottom line, without John by her side, everything seemed to be just a big, resounding meh.
For two months after Christmas vacation we limped around campus with muscles too tigh and sore to walk properly, yet we had no good idea of our goal. Without knowing what a real race was like, I couldn't judge whether it was worth all the preparation, but having put in so much time already, how could we back out? Quite a few Freshman did manage to back out. After Christmas several, when freed from faily practice, decided that they liked not feeling tired all the time. Most of them vanished without a word.
I think what's always been interesting to me than the science and the criminality with this job is what happens to your persona, your disposition, after day in and day out dealing with life and death.
In my whole life, I have known no wise people who didn't read all the time - none. . . ZERO.
I want the kind of readers who remain children at any cost. I can tell them at a glance: loyalty to that first enchantment guards better than any cosmetic; than any diet, against the insults of age. But alas for such readers, who would huddle safe and sound in the asylum of their credulous enchantment as if in the womb-our enervating century offends them by its chaos, its fidgets of light and space, the host of its excuses for dividing , for rending oneself from others and from oneself.