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He sits next to me, careful to avoid my hair that's splayed out around my head like blood. A bullet to the forehead, boom, blond waves everywhere.
Lauren DeStefano
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Lauren DeStefano
Age: 40
Born: 1984
Born: October 13
Author
Novelist
Connecticut
United States
Hair
Boom
Blood
Sits
Head
Bullets
Next
Waves
Around
Wave
Blond
Like
Avoid
Forehead
Everywhere
Bullet
Careful
Foreheads
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I never wanted to live forever, she says. I just wanted enough time.
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Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.
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Life is much different from the days when there were lilies in my mother’s garden, and all my secrets fit into a paper cup.
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I see an ocean that’s spilled out of a wineglass, its body clear and sparkling and folding over itself. I see a ribbon of sand.
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A strange thing, words. Once they're said, it's hard to imagine they're untrue.
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Humans are the absolute worst thing to happen to this planet.
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There was a desperate undercurrent to our marriage--a feeling of being in a dream from which I couldn't seem to awaken. A nagging sense that my life, laid out so neatly like the clothes Deirdre left on my divan, was no longer my own.
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Gabriel's voice can reach me anywhere. Even in a hurricane.
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I stare at her collarbone that's framed with lace, the hollow of her throat, her shoulders that rise with each rise with the weight of her next breath. We're fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?
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When I am writing anything in general, I just want to tell the story that exists in my head I don't try to write a parable or make a point.
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The seeds are tiny, unborn things, and I resent them. They'll be planted and they'll grow into exactly what they're meant to be.
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She would do anything, anything to belong to his son after a lifetime of belonging to no one at all.
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Ah, love. That’s what the world has lost. There’s no more love, only the illusion of it.
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...maybe hope isn't such a bad thing. Maybe it's what keeps us together.
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We writers are resilient souls.
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I've done it all before, I tell myself, and I can do it again. Trust is the strongest weapon.
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Lovers are weapons, but love is a wound.
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Things will get worse before they get better.
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I miss something I never even had.
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For males twenty-five is the fatal age. For women it's twenty. We are all dropping like flies.
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