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384 pages, Paperback
First published June 25, 2024
The fireflies danced around us, the wind winding through the trees, and when he set his eyes on me, I felt like the only story he wanted to read. And that was dangerous, because he was fictional and Rachel had written someone for him. Someone good. And it wasn’t me
“Follow your heart, Even if it leads you wrong, will you really regret it?”
"Sometimes a book can change your life. It's hard to explain that to someone who doesn't read, or who has never felt their heart bend so strongly towards a story that it might just snap in two."
"So who could blame me for sinking into books, where I knew the people weren't real, but they also never disappointed me?
"The fireflied danced around us, the wind winding through the trees, and when he set his eyes on me, I felt like the only story he wanted to read."
"I couldn't remember the last time someone had kissed me that passionately--savored me, like I was the last sentence in his favorite book."
"You don't like naps? What's wrong with you? Who hurt you as a child?"
"It wasn't the end that mattered, but every word leading up to it."
"Love was a bunch of small things that added up to bigger things. Love was feeling valued. And accepted. Just the way you were."
Long distance I could travel, language barriers I could learn, but fictional?
"I had buried my head in stories so long that I'd forgotton to live the real thing."
"You're cute," he went on, "when you're pretending to be angry with me."
"Your mouth is better at kissing than lying, Elsy."
"Well, I was certainly in trouble tonight.
And the worst part was, I feared I was going to like it."
”SOMETIMES, A BOOK CAN change your life. It’s hard to explain that to someone who doesn’t read, or who has never felt their heart bend so strongly toward a story that it might just snap in two. Some books are a comfort, some a reprieve, others a vacation, a lesson, a heartbreak. I’d met countless stories by the time I read a book that changed my life”
”I had buried my head in stories so long that I’d forgotten to live the real thing.
“If I was a poet, I could liken love to your eyes. If I was a gardener, I could plant a kiss on all the places you despise on yourself.If I was a writer, I could write epics to your lovely lips.If I was a painter, I could explore every bend and curve so when my eyes failed me, I would paint you by memory”
“I love you,” he repeated. “I love the way your mouth always slides into a smile, even when no one’s looking. I love the way you go out of your way for people you’ve barely met. I love how your hair always curls right here, at the nape of your neck.And I love how you make me want to see the world in color, and I love how I feel when I’m with you. And maybe we won’t work out, but maybe we will—and I’ll run across cities, and I’ll show up with boom boxes outside your window, and I’ll meet you at the tops of buildings, and I’ll kiss you in the rain just to remind you that you’re worth every moment.”