“I'm watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don't deserve them. Her warm memories. I'd like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.”
“Her warm memories. I'd like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.”
“This was the mark of deep infatuation, he thought: the desire to watch a woman talk just to see her lips move, to be around her.”
“I watched the tears run down her cheeks and start to drip from the end of her chin. One part of me wanted to put my arms round her but I daren't. Do that and I'd never be able to let her go.”
“If I can't, then I'll paint the walls of her house red with my blood.”
“He sat by her, watching every gesture she made, as if he would paint her portrait afterward.”