Daisy Haites Quotes

In another life I reckon I could have loved you,' I tell her. She gives me a little smile back. 'In another life I would have let you-' Never you mind that I already love her in this one.

I think I understand for a fleeting moment why everything that’s bad and painful and sad is worth it if you love someone, because I’ll remember how he’s looking at me now forever.

It's the great undoing of my heart as I know it.

Daisy’s that feeling you get when you’re floating on your back in a pool and there’s so much fucking noise around you until you put your ears under and it all goes quiet. That’s how she feels to me.

Loving you was a good reason not to love anyone else.

The feel of him is my favourite feeling in the world, for all of history and all of time, write it down, ring the town bell and tell the scribes—I’ll wear it on my heart’s sleeve forever that I love him.

You're Central Park at midnight.

If this is what being loved by him on accident feels like, I can't imagine what it'd feel like to be loved on purpose.

What am I to you?” “Oh, I don’t know—” I give her a little shrug, stare straight ahead. Take a long sip before I look over at her. “Like, just—everything.

What are we then?” I ask defiantly, putting some distance between us which he crosses with one step anyway. He kisses my cheek. “Each other’s.

Let me be clear now then, Daisy—” Gives me a tall look. “I am fucked up in love with you.

She is the goddess in the Botticelli clam shell, her eyes are the waterlilies in Monet’s pond, she is the hand of God reaching down to mankind. Klimt’s kiss is a portrait of us and I’m gonna steal it. Take it, make it mine, make her mine too.

I can’t even look at him because I’m a flower and he’s the whole entire sun and he’ll wilt me away,

I know your freckles too,” he tells me.

I’ve never felt like this and it’s now, right now, this exact second that I realise I am in love with Daisy Haites. And then it is immediately after, in that exact second, that I realise I’ve lost her.

Loving him will be my magnum opus.

In another life I reckon I could have loved you,” I tell her. She gives me a little smile back. “In another life I would have let you—

No guns at the dinner table. That's my one rule

If you keep pushing someone away, eventually they’ll stay there.

His face cracks into the best smile I've ever seen and will ever see, because his face is... fuck The Mona Lisa, screw The Last Supper, never think of Michelangelo's David again—they all pale compared to him in front of me.

Memories are funny, don’t you think? Creep up on you, break through the ground of your mind like a weed, even when they don’t have permission to be there.

Daisy for me was a complete trip—I accidentally fell in love with her, and I accidentally lost her. I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t ready to love someone how it turns out I love her.

There's not much I wouldn't give just to have her next to me in it all, anything, really. Just not her life, and I'm pretty sure that's the going rate.

I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile too much, trying not to mount him on the spot, trying not to melt into loving him accidentally.

Sitting next to him saying nothing feels like taking off a corset. A great undoing, if you will, and he will. In every way.

I'm obsessed with him, I think he's every constellation in the sky

Because she’s yours. And even when she isn’t yours, she still is.

Edith Whisker’s version of “Home” starts playing

Mum used to say to me—when you pick who you want to be with, you have to imagine every part of life, every scenario. Good, bad, happy, sad, painful, beautiful—not just the person you want to do road trips with, but the person you want to be stuck in gridlock traffic with. Not just the person you want to have babies with, but the person you want to grieve with, the person you want next to you on the worst day of your life, at the funeral of someone you love, who's next to you? You don't need a fair-weather lover, you need the person that's going to stand next to you in their wellies, staring down the barrel of the storm.

Over the mantelpiece she hung her own portrait up herself, that little minx. Best painting I've ever seen, too. Better than any woman anyone has ever painted in the history of time, a face I'd win battles for. A face I'd lose anything for. Even her. It's time.

I kiss the corner of her mouth, walk out her door and then we don’t speak for ten months.

but I find myself slow-dancing with Christian Hemmes in a laundromat and there’s nothing normal

I just never saw her coming, I couldn't have picked loving her out of a lineup

Because I hate her as much as I love her and I don’t know how to let her go, so I keep us all tangled up.

But I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea that we’re born bad because if we’re all born sinners, I don’t know if we can ever really wash ourselves clean.

It's never just an anything with you.

I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything and I thought I might have been able to angle it, find a way for us to work. A life between where I can be who I am and love her how I do and it not be the death of her, but it’s not on the cards. I’d be the death of her, and I won’t be.

I don't want to let her go - I didn't even want to love her in the first place, but here we are and I do, and I wouldn't take it back now. Couldn't. Even if I could, I couldn't, because I'll love her till I die. Whether I have her or not, whether she wants me back or not, I'm in, even if she's out

Trouble is, I reckon she’d let him. She’s always been a sucker for boys who look like the blonde one from Fast & Furious, and that’s this lad to a tee.

she was on fire, being burnt alive. I was the silver blanket she wrapped herself in.

In another life I reckon I could have loved you," I tell her. She gives me a little smile back. "In another life I would have let you-" Never you mind that I already love her in this one.

The universe, actually, is ablaze. The planets lose track of their orbits, the birds are poets now and all the songs written before this and all the ones that'll come after this are about this moment

The universe, actually, is ablaze. The planets lose track of their orbits, the birds are poets now and all the songs written before this and all the ones that’ll come after this are about this moment; about how when we’re standing my ear rests right where his heart is, how one hand of his swallows a whole half of my waist. The beautiful nothingness of this, the most intimate moment of my life to date, a life that, actually, has been dotted with much intimacy and I think nothing will ever beat him resting his chin on top of my head.

It’s a hard thing about relationships, isn’t it? Doesn’t matter what type it is, if it’s worth keeping, sometimes you have to say shit you don’t want to, pry it out of your own mouth and toss it over a fence your mate’s building now because that’s what people do when you hurt them—build fences, raise walls, dig ditches, pitfalls, etc.

In another life i reckon i could have loved you.

And he’s all surprised that I know his face, but what he doesn’t know is that how he looks in the morning time is burned into my memory and one day, when all this is over and we’re not hooking up anymore and he’s with someone else and I’ve figured out how to move on and past him and we’re not together anymore55 because I don’t think he has room in his heart to see me like that when all he can see is her, even if sometimes now it feels like maybe56 he could—even then, I will see his face when I close my eyes.

Isn’t it funny how pain and sadness can be forgotten for fleeting moments? Your brain gets a tiny bit distracted and it offers you the briefest moment of reprieve. The problem with those reprieves is that they aren’t real, and reality comes hurtling back. And then you have to remember all over again that your dad is dead

It’s the great undoing of my heart as I know it. She’s made herself at home, kicked off those fucking cerulean heels, put her feet up on my left rib. Over the mantelpiece she hung her own portrait up herself, that little minx. Best painting I’ve ever seen, too. Better than any woman anyone has ever painted in the history of time, a face I’d win battles for. A face I’d lose anything for. Even her.

Like, just—everything.

I roll my eyes at him, walk away and ahead, try to chase after that stupid heart of mine that’s riding off into the sunset with a boy who doesn’t like me like that.

I can't even look at him because I'm a flower and he's the whole entire sun and he'll wilt me away, I know he will

I think I understand for a fleeting moment why everything that's bad and painful and sad is worth it if you love someone, because I'll remember how he's looking at me now forever

For all of history and all of time, write it down, ring the town bell and tell the scribes - I'll wear it on my heart's sleeve forever that I love him

He will be nothing to me even though he’s everything.

And it’s doesn’t sound like much, I know, but if my heartbreak was a fever, my brother is the cool cloth they’d lay on my forehead.

You’re Central Park at midnight.

She squints over at me. “Did you really do that for me or is this just a merry coincidence?” “You know what, Tiges, I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve fallen into the ranks of men who find that there’s very little that they wouldn’t do for you.

In another life I reckon I could have loved you,” I tell her. She gives me a little smile back. “In another life I would have let you—” Never you mind that I already love her in this one.

I’m glad for her, that she seems okay. I mean, I’m fucking gutted. I’ve fucked up a lot since we broke up but I’m happy for her. As long as she’s happy. She seems happy. Taura says she is.

just never saw her coming, I couldn’t have picked loving her out of a line-up until it happened and then it was everything: my first thought, last thought, mid-thought, the name I’d say in my sleep, the body I’d think about when I was with other bodies, the smell I’d try to chase down every time I’d walk through Selfridges just so I could breathe in something that smelt like her and feel close to her again, but I can never find it.

No metaphors this time, no flowery euphemisms, no allegories about the planets and fucking ships in shores. Fuck the ships, I am adrift. Cut the rope, let me drown, if this is drowning, I'll do it - it's an okay way to go

everything is so fucked up. I am fucked up. I love him in a way that’s unravelled me, it’s undone me at the seams of myself, and everything that’s pouring out of me is ugly and awful, maybe because I let out all my good for him?

This is a £4000 shirt.” Smokeshow10 squints over at me. “Might have overpaid for that one, Dais.” “Oh, did I?” I glare at him. “Did I overpay for this Beatles ‘Butcher Cover’ Original Promo shirt from 1966?” I cock an eyebrow at him. “On eBay last week, I watched you buy a Hot Cheeto shaped like a gun for £560.

I can feel myself drifting further and further from a safe harbor, though, and I should have tethered myself to something, but I didn't. I can feel it now, Me tethered to him - kind of terrified, kind of awed and I wonder if maybe he's tethered to me too

you can ask anyone and they’ll tell you for free (even though the lesson itself often comes at great cost)—love isn’t enough, and it will hardly ever set you free.

I’m not one of those men who’s stressed about leaving my mark on the world—the world went on fine before I was part of it, it’ll keep being fine after I’m gone.

I am good with names, though, always have been. Intentionally. People respond well to that sort of shit. Makes them feel seen, makes them feel validated.

The only person I never tell them details about is Parks.” “Why?” I frown. “Because she’s mine.

So Daisy’s just what I think about now, that’s who I’ve become.

And you know, I’ll probably do it again when you do something shitty—but it’s you and me, Dais.

Usually with her being quiet feels like I’m alone, and I never feel like I’m alone when I’m with someone else.

Baby Haites." He laughs, shaking his head. "My little wallflower." My. I swallow heavy

He will be nothing to me even though he's everything. I will make him pay for the rest of his life for tricking me into loving him unrequitedly.

I swear to God if that fucking prick is using my phone charger

You can be done, baby

and love would be straightforward because there are so many different kinds of love in the world and art captures a moment in each of them.

You know how ballerinas pick a spot to look at when they're doing a pirouette so they don't get dizzy? Bridget was Magnolia's spot on the wall.

His head pulls back. “Do you know who you’re talking to?” Daisy Haites, love of my fucking life, cocks an eyebrow. “Do you?

I think it’s because he’s worried about me and having him worry about me is5 one of my favourite feelings. It’s indicative of how he cares about me, and that’s still not not novel yet.

Try on for size that old adage of if you love someone, let them go. Even if you've just got them, which I have, even if you hate how the world feels without them - which I do, I know that now

And I don’t really think about what I do next, it sort of just happens. I take off my necklace, slip it over her head and onto her. She stares up at me, blinking. “What are you doing?” I shrug. “Yours now.

It feels like the end. After so long, so many years of bottled up, tortured shit feelings, it feels like I'm watching the bonfire of how I love her go up in flames and I'm actually less sad about it than I thought I'd be. Mostly I'm just relieved

He says it’s just the family business but I call it the family sin. He doesn’t like it when I say that, but I think he thinks I’m right, he just doesn’t know what to do about it. Neither of us do. We are who we are, and what we are is all we’ve ever known.

Do you believe children carry the sins of their fathers? Have you heard of that? Generational sins, ancestral sins—do you believe in those? My brother does. Because our dad did what he did—that’s Julian’s second pass. He’s already wearing Dad’s sins—what’s a few more?

I love him. He’s all I want. He’s all I think about. Everything I didn’t want or believe about love, I want and believe in it with him. And loving him has undone me wide open. But if time has taught me anything it’s that loving anyone when my brother is who he is, is a mistake.

He is—you and me—we’re it, you know? We’re always going to be it, we’ll always come back to each other.[*] So yeah, I might fuck around with other girls, and yeah, I slept with Tavie in New York. And you know, I’ll probably do it again when you do something shitty—but it’s you and me, Dais.

Okay.” He nods once then ducks a little so we’re eye-to-eye. “Let me be clear now then, Daisy—” Gives me a tall look. “I am fucked up in love with you.[*] Have never stopped loving you, since the second I realised I did, and I admit it, it took me too long to know it but I know it now, and I can’t unknow it. I don’t want to unknow it, I want to be with you.” He tells me, not looking away once. “And I’ll do whatever I need to to make us work. You want me to leave London with you? Great. I’m in—

And he's all surprised that I know his face, but what he doesn't know is that how he looks in the morning time is burned into my memory and one day, when all this is over and we're not jooking up anymore and he's with someone else and I've figured out how to move and past him and we're not together anymore because I don't think he has room in his heart to see me like that when all he can see is her, even if sometimes now it feels like maybe he could-even then, I will see his face when I close my eyes.

There is a part of me that worries we’re on a track, loving each other in this stupid way, hating each other in the moments between and we’re just . . . what we are. This disfigured, maladjusted version of a committed couple, but the commitment isn’t necessarily by choice, it’s just an unbreakable habit that makes you feel better and worse in one fell swoop.

The other him. The one I love but can’t love anymore, because I’m normal now.

It’s the great undoing of my heart as I know it.

ask anyone and they’ll tell you for free (even though the lesson itself often comes at great cost)—love isn’t enough, and it will hardly ever set you free.

I don't need us to live in one another's pockets. I don't need to be a part of his every waking moment, but I don't like feeling like I'm being hidden.

if this is what being loved by him on accident feels like, I can’t imagine what it’d feel like to be loved on purpose.

I love him in a way that’s unravelled me, it’s undone me at the seams of myself, and everything that’s pouring out of me is ugly and awful, maybe because I let out all my good for him?

I don’t know what good fortune my fates found to weave into my life right now, but I find myself slow-dancing with Christian Hemmes in a laundromat and there’s nothing normal about it— The universe, actually, is ablaze. The planets lose track of their orbits, the birds are poets now and all the songs written before this and all the ones that’ll come after this are about this moment; about how when we’re standing my ear rests right where his heart is, how one hand of his swallows a whole half of my waist. The beautiful nothingness of this, the most intimate moment of my life to date, a life that, actually, has been dotted with much intimacy and I think nothing will ever beat him resting his chin on top of my head.

It took me too long to figure out what you are to me . . .” Her eyes pinch as she slides me my drink. “What am I to you?” “Oh, I don’t know—” I give her a little shrug, stare straight ahead. Take a long sip before I look over at her. “Like, just—everything.

him all shattered like this because loving me does this to people. I lose everyone. Everyone, all the time. I lose people like a tree loses its leaves in autumn. I’m marred by it. It’s the thing that’s shaped me most . . . My distinctive characteristic . . . Some people have freckles sprinkled on their noses, other people have eyes clear like water, or hair that’s the colour of the night, but me? My unique feature is that I lose everyone, and everyone loses me.

You’ve wanted me for five years and I’ve sort of wanted you maybe for, like, three and a half weeks, so really, it’s no skin off my back . . .” I pressed my tongue into the side of my cheek. The fucking mouth on this girl—unbelievable. “So.” She tapped her little impatient foot. “What’s it going to be?” I held her eyes, trying to make her look away first, but she didn’t. It was a power struggle and I was losing. Licked my bottom lip, shook my head and shrugged. “You heard the boss—” The other girl sort of tumbled off my lap onto the couch as I stood up and stepped towards Magnolia, slipping my arms around her waist. She gave me a defiant look, chin in the air. “Don’t you do that again.” “Fuck, you’re demanding . . .” “Oh, you have no idea . . . But you’re about to—” She gave me a tight smile as she nodded towards the door. “Let’s go. You’re going to take me home and put me to bed.

Yes.” I sniff. I love him like you might love a star. “Yes, you did?” He stares over at me. I nod. “Yes.” His eyes go funny, sort of blurry—he blinks twice and then he yells “Fuck!” way too loudly to be anything close to discreet. My head pulls back and I tense up. “Shit.” He breathes out, shaking his head. “Fuck—” I watch on in mild horror. “Are you ok—” “Say it.” “What?” I stare over at him. “Can you, please? Say it?” he asks. “Now. Out loud—” He shakes his head at himself. “Just so I’ve heard you say it one time.” I open my mouth to protest for a reason I don’t know why and then I stop myself, swallow and look him in the eye. “I loved you.” He nods a couple of times then closes his eyes for a few seconds, blows some air out of his mouth. “I have to ask—” He looks back over at me, eyes all heavy now. “Was I ever in with a shot?” He is a star. Not the shooting kind. Not some flash-in-the-pan meteorite that burns up on entry into the atmosphere. And stars, they’re undeniably beautiful, kind of magical. Only come out at the nighttime. Easy enough to ignore. In a sky full of them, a single star can be difficult to tell apart from the others. They don’t affect our day-to-day lives, really. You might see it one night and not the next, and it bears no real consequence other than perhaps the sky is a little less wonderful on that particular evening. A star is a star. “In this world,” I give him a delicate look, “with BJ?” I shake my head. “I’m sorry.” “That’s—” He trails, letting out this hollow laugh that I kind of hate. It doesn’t suit him. His regular laugh is so wonderful. “—fine.” He nods. “That’s good to know, actually—” “I’m sorry,” I tell him. He shakes his head again. “No, don’t be.” But you see, the thing about stars is that in another galaxy, that star is also a sun. “If it wasn’t him, it would be you,” I tell him, for better and for worse. He blows some more air out of his mouth and catches my eye. “In another life, yeah?” I nod and offer him a weak smile. “I’ll meet you there.