“I want to be your terrible boyfriend,” he says. “If you want to.” I kiss him until our lips are sore, silently sounding a “yes”.
He holds himself up on all fours and makes me reach for him. And I do.
And I would again. I’d cross every line for him.Because I love him. (x)
No, the last thing she cared about was whether people were staring at the boy and girl kissing by the river, as London, its cities and towers and churches and bridges and streets, circled all about them like the memory of a dream. And if the Thames that ran beside them, sure and silver in the afternoon light, recalled a night long ago when the moon shone as brightly as a shilling on this same boy and girl, or if the stones of Blackfriars knew the tread of their feet and thought to themselves: At last, the wheel comes full circle, they kept their silence.