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I crush her against me. I want to be part of her. Not just inside her but all around her. I want our rib cages to crack open and our hearts to migrate and merge. I want our cells to braid together like living thread.
Isaac Marion
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Isaac Marion
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: December 30
Music Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Seattle
Washington
Living
Crack
Around
Cracks
Part
Thread
Braid
Together
Crush
Braids
Heart
Cells
Migrate
Like
Hearts
Merge
Inside
Ribs
Open
Cages
More quotes by Isaac Marion
We have to remember everything. If we don't, by the time we grow up it'll be gone forever.
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Warm Bodies ended up becoming one of the most personal relatable things I've written.
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I can’t seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present.
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Everything you see, you might be seeing for the last time.
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I wince at her use of the word human. I've never liked that differentiation. She is living and I'm dead, but we're both human. Call me an idealist.
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I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.
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If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.
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What happened to the world was gradual. I've forgotten what it actually was, but I have faint, fetal memories of what it was like. A smoldering dread that never really caught fire till there wasn't much left to burn. Each sequential step surprised us. Then one day we woke up, and everything was gone.
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In my palm I can feel the echo of her pulse, standing in for the absense of mine.
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You might say that death has relaxed me.
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A month ago there was nothing on Earth I missed, enjoyed, or longed for. I knew I could lose everything and not feel anything, and I rested easy in that knowledge. But I'm growing tired of easy things.
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It's hard to take your life so seriously when you can see it all at once.
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I want life and in all its stupid sticky rawness.
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What's the point of trying to fix a world we're so briefly in?
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Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasn't been gnawed to bones by nameless beasts below.
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Here it comes. My inevitable death, ignoring me all those years when I wished for it daily, arriving only after I've decided I want to live forever.
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I sigh inside, so exhausted by these ugly questions, but when did a monster ever deserve its privacy?
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It’s not about keeping up the population, it’s about passing on who we are and what we've learned, so things keep going. So we don’t just end.
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How do I appear unthreatening when her lover's blood is running down my chin?
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One mistake, one brief lapse of my new found judgement-that's all it took to unravel everything. What a massive responsibility, being a moral creature.
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