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But I don't want to be fine, not if it means she's going to let go of my hand not if it means we're going to go back to being polite strangers.

Tabitha Suzuma

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Tabitha Suzuma
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Writer
London
England
Tabitha Sayo Victoria Anne Suzuma
Going
Polite
Stranger
Fine
Hand
Means
Hands
Back
Mean
Strangers

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This is the definition of happiness: a whole day stretching out ahead of me, beautiful in its emptiness and simplicity.
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The sight of such aching beauty would infuse his soul with pain.
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And this is something I must accept - even if, like acid on metal, it is slowly corroding me inside.
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If I keep breathing, then I have to keep living, and if I keep living, then I have to keep hurting, and I can't - not like this.
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If I move, if I speak, if I so much as blink, I'm going to lose this battle.
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Willa’s big blue eyes, Willa’s dimpled-cheeked smile. Tiffin’s shaggy blond mane, Tiffin’s cheeky grin. Kit’s yells of excitement, Kit’s glow of pride. Maya’s face, Maya’s kisses, Maya’s love. Maya, Maya, Maya . . .
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He is my soul mate, my fresh air, the reason I look forward to getting up every morning.
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At what point does a fly give up trying to escape through a closed window – do its survival instincts keep it going until it is physically capable of no more, or does it eventually learn after one crash too many that there is no way out? At what point do you decide that enough is enough?
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Even though I'm surrounded by pupils, there is the invisible screen screen between us, and behind the glass wall I am screaming - screaming in my own silence, screaming to be noticed, to be befriended, to be liked.
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Nothing can relieve the pain. Not crying, laughing, screaming, begging. Nothing can change the past.
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Trying to describe my life and feelings to you is like trying to describe coulours to the blind, or music to the deaf. It's simply not possible.
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How-how can we make it against the whole world?
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Before there was anything, there was Lochan.
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Otherwise I'll fall apart. I'm going to fall apart. I am falling apart.
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He will think Lochan wasn't loved, but he was, more deeply than most people are in a lifetime.
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Pressed up against him, I can feel the thud of his heart against mine, his ribcase expanding and contracting rapidly against my chest, the warm whisper of his breath tickling the side of my neck, the brush of his leg against my thigh. Resting my arms on his shoulders, I pull back a little to get a look at his face. But he isn't smiling any more.
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At what point do you give up - decide enough is enough? There is only one answer really. Never.
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There are no laws, no boundaries on feelings.We can love each other as much and as deeply as we want.No one, Maya, no one can ever take that away from us.
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I want to tell her that I can't pull her down. I want to tell her that she has to let go of my hand in order to swim. I want to tell her that she must live her own life. But I sense she already knows that these options are open to her. And that she, too, has made her choice.
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Get through today – you can fall apart tomorrow. Get through tomorrow, you can fall apart the day after . . .
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