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In a moment, when I'm ready, I will turn off this computer and that will be it. This letter will be finished. A part of me doesn't want to stop writing to you, but I need to. For both of us.

Lucy Christopher

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Lucy Christopher
Age: 54
Author
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WAL
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Computer
Need
Ready
Needs
Turn
Writing
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Moment
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Letters
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More quotes by Lucy Christopher

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The people we care for aren't always the one we should
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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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I remember that feeling of skin. It's strange to remember touch more than thought. But my fingers still tingle with it.
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This be OK?' I asked, innocently. 'You want me to have no skin left?' You rolled your eyes. Actually, don't answer that one.
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I didn’t want the person standing there, beside the bed, to have the same face I’d found so attractive at the airport. But you were there all right: the blue eyes, blondish hair, and tiny scar. Only you didn’t look beautiful this time. Just evil.
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The land wants you here. I want you here, you called. Don't you care about that at all?
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I was surprised at her gentleness, her willingness to give in.
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You nodded towards the cup. Want more? I shook my head. What about the car? Didn't find it. You were heading back towards me when I found you. Towards . . . ? You nodded. So I reckoned the car had probably got stuck or died somehow, and you were just coming home. Home? Yeah. Your mouth twitched. Back to me.
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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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How would she find her herd? How would she find you?
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And it's hard to hate someone once you understand them.
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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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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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You're right, he's a killer, you said. A rooster with some serious issues.
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The deep blue of your eyes had secrets. I wanted them.
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Doesn't that hurt? I said. Yep. How do you keep them in there? I'm stubborn. You grinned. Stubborn as a waddywood. And anyway, pain means it's healing. Not always.
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I love you, you said, simple as anything.
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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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It sounded weird to hear you talk so much normally you only said a few words at a time. I'd never imagined that you'd have a story, too. Until that moment, you were just the kidnapper. You didn't have reasons for anything. You were stupid and evil and mentally ill. That was all. When you started talking, you started changing.
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It was like I’d stepped out into an afterlife. Only there were no angels.
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