Is it a crime when you love someone so much that you can't stand the thought of them changing? Is it a crime when you love someone so much that you can't see clearly?
When you're a parent you find yourself looking at the unknown that is your child, trying to find a piece of yourself inside her, because sometimes that is what it takes to claim.
Sometimes parents don't find what they're looking for it their child, so they plant seeds for what they'd like to grow there instead. I've witnessed this with the former hockey player who takes his son out to skate before he can even walk. Or in the ...
What is a parent, really, but somebody who picks up the things a child leaves behind - a trail made of stripped off clothing, orphaned shoes, tiny bright plastic game pieces, and nostalgia - and who hands back each of these when its needed?
If you want to know someone's story, they have to tell it aloud. But every time, the telling is a little but different. It's new, even to me.
When your mother is made out of your dreams, anything real is bound to disappoint you.
It was the first time she'd discovered something she really didn't want to find, and she didn't know what to do once she'd found it.
Sometimes we don't know we're dreaming; we can't even fathom that we're asleep.
That's the crazy thing about lies. You start to fall for them, yourself.
I suddenly remember being very little and being embraced by my father. I would try to put my arms around my father's waist, hug him back. I could never reach the whole way around the equator of his body; he was that much larger than life. Then one da...
Unlike Elise, who could discover parts of a person they didn't even know were absent, you specialized in tangible, but that, I feared, was only a matter of time.
In half hour my mother has managed to give me what my father couldn't: my past.
It's not because I don't want to hurt Delia's feelings. It's because when she is bruised, I'm the one who aches.
You can't hate someone until you know what it might be like to love them.
You cannot hate someone until you know what it might be like to love them.
Memories aren't stored in the heart or the head or even the soul, if you ask me, but in the spaces between any given two people.
Suddenly this is all too hard. I am tired of putting up walls. I want someone with the strength - and the honesty - to break them down.
Eric understands that the world is rarelythe way it is supposed to be. And he knows that, given the chance, we don't have to wait for someone to make messes of our lives. We do a good enough job, ourselves.
