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I remember that feeling of skin. It's strange to remember touch more than thought. But my fingers still tingle with it.

Lucy Christopher

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Lucy Christopher
Age: 54
Author
Writer
WAL
Thought
Tingle
Stills
Skin
Remember
Skins
Still
Fingers
Touch
Strange
Feeling
Feelings

More quotes by Lucy Christopher

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Far, far away something made a single ghostly howl, like a banshee in the dark.
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Your beautiful mouth was moving like a caterpillar. I reached out and tried to catch it.
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Those blue, blue eyes, icy blue, looking back at me as if I could warm them up. They’re pretty powerful, you know, those eyes, pretty beautiful, too.
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How would she find her herd? How would she find you?
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I could hear you, talking to the daffodils and tulips, whispering to the fairies that lived inside their petals. Each separate flower had a different family inside it.
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But what else can I do, other than to plead with you like this? Other than to write down my story, our story, to show you that what you've done . . . to make you realize that what you did wasn't fair, wasn't right.
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I thought you wanted to catch a camel, you tried again. No. I want to. Well, you go then. You laughed. I want your beautiful face where I can see it
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I mean, that star over there is blinking at me madly now, but for how long? An hour or two, or for the next million years? And how long will we sit here like this? Just another moment, or the rest of our lives? You know which one I'd prefer.
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Everyone wanted answers I wasn't ready to give.
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It happened like this. I was stolen from an airport. Taken from everything I knew, everything I was used to. Taken to sand and heat, dirt and danger. And he expected me to love him. This is my story. A letter from nowhere.
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It was so big, that view. I’ll never remember it properly. How can anyone remember something that big? I don’t think people’s brains are designed for memories like that. They’re designed for things like phone numbers, or the color of someone’s hair. Not hugeness.
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You looked at me, your eyes huge. You we're like a dog then, waiting for me to throw you a bone . . . waiting for something I could never give you.
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I love you, you said, simple as anything.
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You smiled then, and your whole face changed with it. It kind of lit up, like there were sunbeams coming from inside you.
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I want you to see that the person I glimpsed running beside the camel, running to save my life, is the person you can choose to be.
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The deep blue of your eyes had secrets. I wanted them.
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Had you been lying all along? Mum gently stroked my hair. I whispered into her shoulder. “I can’t go back. Not yet. I can’t leave.” And she held my head tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around me. “You don’t have to,” she said, rocking me. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, not anymore.” And I cried.
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I remember the lights turning into blurs of blazing fire. I remember the air-conditioning chilling my arms. The smell of coffee smudging into the smell of eucalyptus.
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You're right, he's a killer, you said. A rooster with some serious issues.
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And it's hard to hate someone once you understand them.
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