shit i liked from the most depressing book ever
"This makes me laugh and laugh loud, too loud for the middle of the night. Now I am fully disrobed and fully awake. I stumble quickly into his arms with my nightdress at my ankles. Thin as he says I am, I am afraid to fold in two and disappear. I'm afraid to be shy, distant, and cold......'Your clothes cover more than your skin' he says. 'You become this uniform they make for you. Now you are only you, just the flesh.'"
"For some, passion is the gift of a ring in a church ceremony, the bearing of children as shared property. For me it was just a smile I couldn't help, tugging at the sides of my face. And slowly as he caught glimpses of me between sips of his coffee, he returned the smile, looking the same way I did: bashful, undeserving, and almost ashamed to be the one responsible for the look of desire always rising in a dark flush on the side of his face. His eyes searched everything around him, the live coals and shes under the coffeepot, the pebbles opening hte soil to fit themselves in, the patches of dirt-brown grass dying from being too often trampled underfoot. When the morning breeze lifted his torn and leaf-stained collar, he pressed it back down with hsi cane-scarred hands. His eyes surveyed all the familiar details of his fingers, pausing only for an isntant when our pupils met and trying to communicate with the simple flutter of a smile all those things we could not say because there was cane to curse, the harvest to dread, the future to fear."
"For some, passion is the gift of a ring in a church ceremony, the bearing of children as shared property. For me it was just a smile I couldn't help, tugging at the sides of my face. And slowly as he caught glimpses of me between sips of his coffee, he returned the smile, looking the same way I did: bashful, undeserving, and almost ashamed to be the one responsible for the look of desire always rising in a dark flush on the side of his face. His eyes searched everything around him, the live coals and shes under the coffeepot, the pebbles opening hte soil to fit themselves in, the patches of dirt-brown grass dying from being too often trampled underfoot. When the morning breeze lifted his torn and leaf-stained collar, he pressed it back down with hsi cane-scarred hands. His eyes surveyed all the familiar details of his fingers, pausing only for an isntant when our pupils met and trying to communicate with the simple flutter of a smile all those things we could not say because there was cane to curse, the harvest to dread, the future to fear."