Love Takes Hostages
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you. Then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like — maybe we should be just friends — turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”
- Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones
There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away the things she won’t remember and that she can’t even let herself think about because that’s when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in her mind it’s always raining a slow and endless drizzle.
You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.
Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again.
Whenever it rains you will think of her.
—Neil Gaiman
—18th & Folsom
My first attempt at GarageBand and sound creation.
Love is clockworks. And cold steel. Fingers too numb to feel.
Great advice. “Enjoy the ride.”
Love.
You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness.
—Frank Muller reads from "The Great Gatsby"
“Champagne was served in glasses bigger than finger bowls. The moon had risen higher. And floating in the sound was a triangle of silver scales trembling a little to the stiff tiny drip of the banjos on the lawn.”
My God. So brilliant.
