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.

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.

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

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.

You're Central Park at midnight.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Loving him will be my magnum opus.

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

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

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—

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.

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.

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.

Edith Whisker’s version of “Home” starts playing

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

It's never just an anything with you.

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

In another life i reckon i could have loved 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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

Like, just—everything.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

You can be done, baby

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.

I’d like to feel alone sometimes, I’d like to walk down the street and not worry that the car that’s driving next to me is there to take me,

Do you believe children carry the sins of their father? Have you heard of that? Generational sins, ancestral sins—do you believe in those?

She became a little insomniac, that eight-year-old shadow of mine.

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.

No I—” I shake my head. “I know it’s a lot.” “Yeah.” He nods, not letting me go. “But it’s not too much, though.

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

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

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

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.

Fuck. I hate loving her. It’s the great undoing of my heart as I know it.

I know your freckles too,' he tells me.

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

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?

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.

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

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.

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.

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. Maybe do that one first.

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?

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.

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.

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 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 his eyes.

I think that he thinks that me being beautiful will absorb the brunt of his repeated rejections but all it’s done is show me that beauty is worth nothing in the end.” She moves past me back into my room, over to my bedside table, and finishes her tequila from before. Downs it. She doesn’t like spirits. Hates them, actually. And you know what—fuck it, I hate him. I didn’t before, but I hate him now.

Every loud and perfect symphony, every immaculate clash of pastel colours in every sky that this stupid, beautiful world has ever given us — he is all of it. He is the drug. Every high I’ve ever chased, every good feeling, every momentarily filled void. His hands on my body, his mouth on my mouth, him inside of me — everyone else is Vicodin, morphine and fentanyl, but Christian — he’s the good stuff.

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.

smirk, eyes falling down her. “Have you seen you?” And then she turns in my hands, face pulling all upset and I tilt my head confused. “People say things like that to me quite often—like being beautiful is a personality trait.” She glares up at me. I like it when she goes defiant. “Like it’s all that I am.” My eyes pinch, interested. “You don’t like it?” She crosses her arms over her bare chest. “I think it makes it easier for people to treat me not like a real person.” Fuck.

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.