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And I kissed him back so hard, like I was trying to merge our bodies through our lips.

Gayle Forman

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Gayle Forman
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 5
Writer
LA
California
Body
Back
Hard
Trying
Like
Merge
Kissed
Bodies
Lips

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And our lips. There isn't enough skin, enough spit, enough time, for the lost years that our lips are trying to make up for as they find each other. We kiss. The electric current switches to high. The lights throughout all of Brooklyn must be surging.
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C'est courageux d'aller dans l'inconnu': It is courageous to go into territory unknown.
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By that point, it’ll have been more than year since I met Lulu. Any sane person would say it’s too late. It already felt too late that first day, when I woke up in the hospital. But even so, I’ve kept looking. I’m still looking.
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I realize then that it's not enough to know what someone is called. You have to know who they are.
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It feels like the city is telling secrets down here, privy only to those who think to listen.
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He gives me a little shrug, like, of course, why else? And at this point, I really have no right to be surprised by people's capacity for kindness and generosity, but still, I am. I'm floored every time.
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My stomach lurched, an appetizer before the full portion of heartache I had a feeling was going to be served at some point soon.
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It's nice, this. The canal. He looks at me. You. I'll bet you say that to all the canals.
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I am adrenaline slammed into inertia: a fast car stuck in traffic.
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But then Mason touches my neck, to the spot on it where the cut from that night has since healed, and I pull away. He was right, after all it didn't leave a scar, though part of me wishes it had. At least I'd have some evidence, some justification of this permanence. Stains are even worse when you're the only one who can see them.
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Pictures can be pretty deceptive.
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Needle and thread flesh and bone Spit and sinew, heartbreak is home. Your suture lines, they sparkle like diamonds Bright stars to light my confinement Stitch.
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If I stay. If I live. It’s up to me. All this business about medically induced comas is just doctor talk. It’s not up to the doctors. It’s not up to the absentee angels. It’s not even up to God who, if He exists, is nowhere around right now. It’s up to me.
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If I stay. If I live. It's up to me.
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