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Henry closed his eyes and imagined the sweet petulant woundedness with which she had stared at him on the beach. He felt a little proud that she could love him.
Anna Godbersen
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Anna Godbersen
Age: 44
Born: 1980
Born: April 10
Writer
Berkeley
California
Little
Lust
Love
Beach
Sweet
Proud
Petulant
Eyes
Stared
Eye
Henry
Felt
Imagined
Littles
Closed
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You don’t need to marry a man with millions. You only need to be your exquisite self.
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I've always believed in savoring the moments. In the end, they are the only things we'll have.
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To look in the face of hard things and keep moving forward - that's what one has to do.
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She had rarely been near Henry since then, and the sight of him now was like a concentrated dose.
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Instead, he sat in the parlor of his family's Fifth Avenue mansion, growing older by the minute just like everybody else.
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We see our sins reflected everywhere: in the pallor of our intimates’ faces, in the scratching of tree branches against windows, in the strange movements of everyday objects. These may be messages from God or tricks of the eye, but in neither case are we permitted to ignore them.
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It is easy to forget now, how effervescent and free we all felt that summer.
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She was a vision in a white gown her dark hair forming a hazy halo around her rosy heart-shaped face. Her long lashes fluttered to touch her cheeks and then her eyes opened fully in his direction. Her small round mouth flexed in an immediate and knowing smile. That's the girl I'm going to marry Henry thought.
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Love is all right, as things go, but lovers can be a terrible waste of a girl's time.
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It had been an awful thing to lose Henry the first time, to matrimony, but to discover what a false front he was capable of was another kind of blow, and it had left her almost speechless. Then there was the fury with herself—for she had known what Henry’s love was, and still she had gone back to suffer a little more at his hands.
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Her heart the damned thing had begun to race and she only hoped that the rapid inflation and deflation of her chest wasn't visible beneath her fitted bodice.
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She was trying to sound tough and impatient, but she knew that vulnerable desire to be wooed was still brimming in her tone.
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It seemed to her as though everything that was good and true had been blasted out of the world. All those things had been crushed destroyed made to disappear.
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So this was betrayal. It was like being left alone in the desert at dusk without water or warmth. It left your mouth dry and will broken. It sapped your tears and made you hollow.
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That was the way love was, she guessed-it left you always unsteady on your feet.
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In New York there is always something to look at, but it is all infinitely more interesting through a window in the backseat of a limousine.
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