(no subject)
I just finished Nice to Come Home to by Rebecca Flowers. It was one of those books that I so desperately wanted to read, but never found the emotional wherewithal to get through. It strikes you as sappy and vacillating, but by the end, you don't want that last sentence to be the last line, and you want the acknowledgments to read something different.
In the home stretch, I discovered a quote that I really liked. I messaged it to a few of my dear friends, and then decided I needed to share it with more people, because it very much explains everything I've ever wanted to say.
Kate peeked out between her fingers. "I'm in love, doll. I want to spend the rest of my life with this man. Like, shackled to his side."
"You are? You do?" Pru leaned forward. "This is going to sound weird, but--how do you know?"
Kate tipped her head to the side, thinking. "You know how you're at a party and you pick up the wrong beer, and you know after one sip that it's not yours? But then, when you find the right one, you know it right away? Why? What is it? The temperature, or the taste of your own spit that you can somehow recognise? Or the weight and moistness of the can? Or maybe everything, all together. But it's all so subtle and complex you can't explain it. If someone asked, How do you know that's your beer? well, you wouldn't know what to say. You just know."
Please go buy this book.
Disclaimer: Rebecca Flowers did not put me up to this.
In the home stretch, I discovered a quote that I really liked. I messaged it to a few of my dear friends, and then decided I needed to share it with more people, because it very much explains everything I've ever wanted to say.
Kate peeked out between her fingers. "I'm in love, doll. I want to spend the rest of my life with this man. Like, shackled to his side."
"You are? You do?" Pru leaned forward. "This is going to sound weird, but--how do you know?"
Kate tipped her head to the side, thinking. "You know how you're at a party and you pick up the wrong beer, and you know after one sip that it's not yours? But then, when you find the right one, you know it right away? Why? What is it? The temperature, or the taste of your own spit that you can somehow recognise? Or the weight and moistness of the can? Or maybe everything, all together. But it's all so subtle and complex you can't explain it. If someone asked, How do you know that's your beer? well, you wouldn't know what to say. You just know."
Please go buy this book.
Disclaimer: Rebecca Flowers did not put me up to this.