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I knew that I could hate him all I wanted for the way he was hurting me, but I couldn’t ever stop loving him, absolutely, for what he was.

Paula McLain

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Paula McLain
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: October 7
Author
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Fresno
California
Knew
Hurt
Stop
Hate
Ever
Hurting
Wanted
Loving
Way
Absolutely
Couldn

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But love is love. It makes you do terribly stupid things.
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The way I see it, how can you really say you'll love a person longer than love lasts?
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Maybe happiness was an hourglass already running out, the grains tipping, sifting past each other. Maybe it was a state of mind.
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It was our favorite part of the day, this in-between time, and it always seemed to last longer than it should--a magic and lavender space unpinned from the hours around it, between worlds.
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But when Bumby nursed, his fist clutching the fabric of my robe, his eyes soft and bottomless and locked on mine, as if I were the very heart of his universe, I couldn't help but melt into him.
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I would gladly have climbed out of my skin and into his that night, because I believed that was what love meant.
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... and yet he could also be very charming, in a bookish, infinitely apologetic way.
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I miss good old-fashioned honorable people just trying to make something of life. Simply, without hurting anyone else. I know that makes me a sap.
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There was only today to throw yourself into without thinking about tomorrow, let alone forever. To keep you from thinking, there was liquor, an ocean's worth at least, all the usual vices and plenty of rope to hang yourself with. Love is a beautiful liar.
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Happiness is so awfully complicated, but freedom isn't. You're either tied down or you're not.
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All that was left for me was a terrible kind of paralysis, this waiting game, this heartbreak game.
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My life was my life I would have to stare it down, somehow, and make it work for me.
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