I have a theory. Hating someone feels disturbingly similar to being in love with them. I’ve had a lot of time to compare love and hate, and these are my observations. Love and hate are visceral. Your stomach twists at the thought of that person. The heart in your chest beats heavy and bright, nearly visible through your flesh and clothes. Your appetite and sleep are shredded. Every interaction spikes your blood with adrenaline, and you’re in the brink of fight or flight. Your body is barely under your control. You’re consumed, and it scares you.
“Let Riko be King,” Kevin said, with the exaggerated enunciation of the thoroughly sloshed. “Most coveted, most protected. He’ll sacrifice every piece he has to protect his throne. Whatever. Me?” Kevin gestured again, meaning to indicate himself but too drunk to get his hand higher than his waist. “I’m going to be the deadliest piece on the board.”
“How a team rose from the humblest of beginnings, Scaled heights and Ploughed depths to become the
most loved football club on the planet. Revered not just for the trophies we’ve won but for
the manner in which we’ve won them. With honour and dignity. With genius and inspiration. And a never-say-die siprit that is the stuff of legend. A refusal to accept defeat until the 90th minute and beyond. It’s a story you couldn’t write. A story you wouldn’t believe if you hadn’t lived it,
experienced it, witnessed it,yourself. This is the story of Manchester United. The team that wouldn’t die.”
endless list of favorite characters→ jill roberts. “Don’t you get it? This has never been about killing you. It’s about becoming you. I mean, for fuck’s sake, my own mother had to die, no great loss there, so I could stay true to the original. That’s sick, right? Well, sick is the new sane.”