Yes, I’m going to need a group of five vaguely good looking, pretentious, well dressed, and literary minded people so I can hold dinner parties and make witty puns. There won’t be any murder though. Just clearing that up.
“The idea was flawed, of course,” he said irritably. “Innately and
fatally flawed. It depended on two of the human race’s greatest myths:
the possibility of permanence, and the simplicity of human nature. Both
of which are all well and good in literature, but the purest fantasy
outside the covers of a book. Our story should have stopped that night
with the cold cocoa, the night we moved in: and they all lived happily
ever after, the end. Inconveniently, however, real life demanded that we
keep on living.”
Somewhere in there, I knew the exact moment, my life had slipped through my hands and smashed to smithereens. Everything I had- my job, my friends, my flat, my clothes, my reflection in the mirror- felt like it belonged to someone else, some clear-eyed straight-backed girl I could never find again. I was a wrecked thing smeared over with dark finger marks and stuck with shards of nightmare, and I had no right there anymore. I moved through my lost life like a ghost, trying not to touch anything with my bleeding hands, and dreamed of learning to sail in a warm place, Bermuda or Bondi, and telling people sweet soft lies about my past.
“Sacrifice is not an option, or an anachronism; it’s a fact of life. We all cut off our own limbs to burn on some altar. The crucial thing is to choose an altar that’s worth it and a limb you can accept losing. To go consenting to the sacrifice.”
“Time works so hard for us, if only we can let it.”
i. down on love - cannons | ii. young - vallis alps | iii. you haunt me (amtrac remix) - sir sly | iv. to the hills - laurel | v. sway (chainsmokers remix) - anna of the north | vi. navy light - labyrinth ear | vii. she’s not me - lana del rey | viii. wyrd - glass animals | ix. cold front - laura welsh | x. breathe into me - marian hill | xi. cracks - sam sure | xii. trials of the past - sbtkrt | xiii. be together - major lazer | xiv. body talk - cannons | xv. hunger - sam sure | xvi. clockwork - dan aux, faster than light, ed waaka | xvii. reckless - ms mr
They were very tactile, all of them. We never touched in college, but at home, someone was always touching someone: Daniel’s hand on Abby’s head as he passed behind her chair, Rafe’s arm on Justin’s shoulder as they examined some spare-room discovery together, Abby lying back in the swing seat across my lap and Justin’s, Rafe’s ankles crossed over mine as we read by the fire. …It was stranger and more powerful than that: they didn’t have boundaries, not among themselves, not the way most people do. Your average house share involves a pretty high level of territorial dispute— tense negotiations over the remote control, house meetings about whether bread counts as personal or shared, Rob’s flatmate used to have a three-day snit fit if he used her butter. But these people: as far as I could tell, everything, except thank God underwear, belonged to all of them. The guys pulled clothes out of the airing cupboard at random, anything that would fit; I never did figure out which tops were officially Lexie’s and which ones were Abby’s. They ripped sheets of paper out of each other’s notepads, ate toast off the nearest plate, took sips out of whatever glass was handy.
It wasn’t affection I was after, nothing like that. What I wanted was someone I belonged with, beyond any doubt or denial; someone where every glance was a guarantee, solid proof that we were stuck to each other for life.
I’ve realized that I write a lot less about romance and parent/child relationships than I do about friendships. I think I keep coming back to this idea because in some ways, friendships are even more essential to a human being. You can be a perfectly healthy person without having kids or having a romantic relationship — you can live a full, happy, healthy life. I’m not sure you can do that without friends.
I used to think I sewed us together at the edges with my own hands, pulled the stitches tight and I could unpick them any time I wanted. Now I think it always ran deeper than that and farther, underground; out of sight and way beyond my control.
book cover redesign // the likeness by tana french
“sacrifice is not an option, or an anachronism; it’s a fact of life. we all cut off our own limbs to burn on some altar. the crucial thing is to choose an altar that’s worth it and a limb you can accept losing. to go consenting to the sacrifice.”