She seemed to take responsibility now for his silence, fearing she had wounded his feelings.
The Fetch, Laura Whitcomb
For the ink that bled on paper, to bring our stories to life.
She seemed to take responsibility now for his silence, fearing she had wounded his feelings.
I always enjoy planting – seeing the miracle of the little dead-looking seeds having so much life in them. Makes me feel like a withered old guy might have some potential left in him. Even if it’s only fertilizer.
What was it that made this human love so much more desirable to me than the love of my own kind? Was it because it was exclusive and capricious? The souls offered love and acceptance to all. Did I crave a greater challenge? This love was tricky; it had no hard-and-fast rules – it might be given for free, as with Jamie, or earned through time and hard work, as with Ian, or completely and heartbreakingly unattainable, as with Jared.
She’s the one. That’s her. She’s the one for you. The crazy thought just came out of nowhere. Filled my head with sudden, inappropriate joy.
Sex wasn’t the full extent of our love, but our love was what made it so much more powerful.
They stared through the glass as if it were a magic mirror into some other dimension. A life they had been sheltered from and imagined incorrectly. A world that had never understood them, either. But instead of feeling pity for them, Calder felt envy. Their closeness stirred him, hurt him, filled him with longing and discontent.
In truth, our history was not knowing; it was being carefully shielded from the truth.
All these sweet things had been snatched from her and she was lost again.
It was the enemy he had come to love.
I met Mr. Fielding about sixteen months ago. He belonged in Oregon the way a trout belongs in Montana. He was probably fifty … or forty … or sixty. It was hard to tell, and he refused to say how old he was, enjoying the fact I couldn’t settle on a number.
