Lotus Jennifer Hartmann Quotes

There is beauty to be found everywhere… even in the things that scare us.

One person’s suffering shouldn’t take the joy out of something others may find pleasure

The Lotus will bloom into the most magnificent flower, even when its roots are in the murkiest of waters.

But not all love is meant to stay. Sometimes it only serves a temporary purpose.

And I love her, so entirely, so painfully… I always have. I tell her in the way I hold her, in the way I look at her, in the way I say her name. She is my favorite part of me.

I’m right here, with you, and I’m still holding onto your heart. Please don’t ask me to give it back.

Sydney Neville + Oliver Lynch It’s always been us.

Pressing our foreheads together, gazes still locked, I whisper with ardency: “I love you, Syd. I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you until my dying day.

We’ll be best friends forever, right?” “Yes. Until I die.” “Even then, I’ll find a way to bring you back.

We’ll rise from the ashes with smoke in our lungs and scars on our skin, but we will persevere. We will thrive.

I want to experience raw emotion, inspired by other humans. Love, passion, companionship

Like every star in the galaxy tumbled to Earth and crawled beneath my skin.

One person’s suffering shouldn’t take the joy out of something others may find pleasure in,” I tell her. “It would be a very sad world if that were the case.

Love is a paradox.

Casual sex is one thing, but my relationship with Oliver is anything but casual. It’s everything. The risk of permanent damage is too great, and I refuse to cross that line.

You're going to lose me by trying too hard not to lose me....

Of course, I love her. I love her more than I love fresh air.

Sydney loves me. And I love her, so entirely, so painfully… I always have. I tell her in the way I hold her, in the way I look at her, in the way I say her name. She is my favorite part of me.

Look, I know you didn’t want to see me, but—” “I wanted to see you.” I’m startled by the sound of my own voice as I turn to look at her through a jagged swallow. “I just didn’t want to be seen.

Maybe I’m desensitized to real men. Maybe my expectations live between the pages of books involving heroes with ten-inch schlongs and magical tongues, performing grandeur gestures to sweep their heroines off their feet.

Facebook, Oliver. You’d know what I’m talking about if you logged in more than once. All you’ve posted is an off-centered picture of a blurry raccoon.” “I’m still getting acclimated to the camera feature.” “You also only have two friends, and they’re both fake accounts.” “They told me I had funds available in a deceased relative’s account that they would help me retrieve. It sounded promising.” A sharp laugh hits me. “You didn’t even accept my friend request.” “You weren’t offering me two-million dollars.” Another laugh that prompts my own.

Because we’re a fucked-up, complicated species prone to self-sabotage, baseless insecurities, and the notion that there’s always something better around the corner. We’re constantly chasing imaginary destinations, thinking we’re missing out, wanting more. We’re never truly present.

Funny story… Brant’s not gay. I know this because our lips are locked together as we stumble up my pebbled walkway with frisky hands and clumsy feet.

Gabe ordered me new clothes all the way from the Amazon, and they fit remarkably well. And they arrived much quicker than one would anticipate for such a lengthy travel.

I can’t decipher what’s real, what really existed before Bradford took me beneath the soil and fed me lies. I can’t differentiate between a memory, a dream, and a tall tale. I trusted Bradford. I thought he was my caretaker. My protector. My hero. I feel betrayed in the worst way.

We need to fight for what’s in our hearts. No one else can do that for us,” she tells me pointedly. “And if there is anything on this earth worth fighting for, it’s love.” Love.

The Lotus will bloom into the most magnificent flower, even when its roots are in the murkiest of waters. I wrap my arms around Oliver Lynch, my forever best friend, burying my face against the comforting warmth of his chest. And it’s there upon our secret hill that we dance, we cry, and we fall in love all over again. It’s there we bloom. EPILOGUE OLIVER Two Years Later “Is that a head?

I look for the closest weapon-like object, which is a toss-up between my vibrator and the crucifix I keep under my bed, despite the fact that I haven’t been a practicing Catholic since I discovered Santa wasn’t real. But I keep the cross, just in case. Hell is a lot scarier than coal in my stocking.

What did it feel like to you?” My mind is still spinning, my thoughts dizzy and blurred. I’ve never felt anything like that before, so I have little to compare it to, but I try to explain it the best I can. “Like every star in the galaxy tumbled to Earth and crawled beneath my skin.” A

Trauma is like poison. It seeps in when you least expect it to, and it lingers long after the initial dust has settled, inflicting more damage, more destruction. It’s a vicious cycle.

Oliver told me in case you were wondering. His good morals and manners seem to be rubbing off on you.” She adds as an afterthought, “Praise the Lord.” A huff. “Well, it’s not a problem. I ran out of sinning to do that day and got bored. I mean, there’s only a limited amount of unprotected sex and satanic rituals a girl can partake in before she needs to switch it up, you know?

What happened to Milton?” “His name was Milton,” I reply, as if… duh. “If his parents hate him that much, I didn’t stand a chance.

Good things can be found everywhere… even in our worst nightmares.

Clem: Answer me, hoochy I groan. Me: I’m working, skank Clem: I need you to watch Poppy this weekend. Pretty please. No cherries on top because I ate them.

Sydney…” he continues, then heaves in a deep breath. “It’s Oliver. They found Oliver.

She turns to me, our faces so close I’m afraid to pull my eyes to hers. The magnetism is too strong, the distance between us too slight. If I look at her now, I’ll be lost. But I do. And I am.

I have a date with Sydney tonight. Apparently, we are watching a movie called The Parent Trap and she is overly delighted to view this particular film with me. She hasn’t told me why, but she said she’s making an abundance of oatmeal cookies to consume while we watch together.

I have an assortment of burning questions to match the burning of my cheeks, but one, in particular, stands out: What is a moist muffin?

My own laughter competes with hers as I attempt to elude her flailing hands, and then she’s climbing on top of me, straddling my thighs. I lean back further, stretching my arm as far as it will go.

I decide in that moment, that if I could re-create even one of those scenes from her book, I would die a happy man.

The Queen of the Lotus is no longer a little girl with pigtails, clutching a tattered teddy bear to her overalls. She’s a full-grown woman with wild sun-kissed hair, black spectacles, and a Nirvana T-shirt tied at her hip with a rubber band. Her eyes are shaded in the bluest colored pencil I could find, and her nose is small, her lips plump, her frame slim, yet busty. Her humor shines through in her dialogue, along with an assortment of curse words and witty retorts. She is fierce. She is goofy. She is beautiful. She is Syd.

I remember a little girl,” I say, my voice ragged and worn. I don’t even recognize it. I watch as Sydney pauses her steps, turning to face me, her eyes a vibrant sea of awe and wonder. “That was you?” She nods, a gesture that is slow and timid as she tucks a gilded strand of hair behind one ear. I’m unable to determine if her expression is pained or joyful. Her voice shakes when a query floats over to me from across the room. “You remember me?” “I thought I created you.” Sydney’s unease seems to wash away at my words and her body relaxes, a smile blooming to life. “I’ve always been here.

Do you want me to stop by tomorrow? Maybe we can talk, or watch TV or something? You know…hang out?” Cool. Like we’re freakin’ six-years-old. I flash back to knocking on his front door, asking his mother if he could “play.” Oliver’s brow creases as he contemplates my offer. The golden glints in his eyes swirl and spin, echoing his racing thoughts. Then he says, simply: “No.

We were just…playing a game. Twister. You know, with the colorful dots and weird yoga poses? Crazy fun.” “Twister?” My frown deepens. “I assumed you were having sex.” Gabe’s mouth shapes into an O as his eyebrows raise, his feet shuffling back and forth like he’s uncomfortable. “Right. We did that, too. After Twister.

Gabe ordered me new clothes all the way from the Amazon, and they fit remarkably well. And they arrived much quicker than one would anticipate for such lengthy travel.

Unsure of what else to do, I pull out my cellular device. I suppose I should get some use out of it. Scanning through the plethora of icons, I find the one that allows me to transmit messages. I locate Sydney’s name and type out: Hi, it’s Oliver. Don’t be alarmed, but I’m standing behind you.

I’ll be fine. But you can help me pick out an outfit.” “I don’t feel qualified…

Taken?” he wonders, eyebrows raised in question. “Was she alluding to my abduction?” “She assumed we were sleeping together,” I explain, a smile lifting. “Oh.” The question doesn’t leave his face. “That’s an odd conclusion to make.” A chuckle slips out when I realize he doesn’t understand the context. “She thought we were having sex.” Blush stains his cheeks. Damn, that’s adorable. Oliver tucks his chin to his chest and repeats, “Oh.

I never want to go back there.” I shake my head, adamantly. “You won’t. It’s over, and you survived. Do you trust me?” Another slow nod. “You’re the only one I trust.” Oliver’s voice is ragged and strained, but his words put my shattered heart right back together. “Good, because I won’t lose you again.

Oliver holds it up to his ear and waits, but it keeps ringing. “You’re such a goof. You have to press Accept.” I’m still giggling when I swipe the phone back, noting that the caller is Gabe.

They found the guy, Syd. They found the bastard who took him.” “Oh my God. Is he alive?” A frown creases between Oliver’s eyes as he rises to his feet. We stare at each other as Gabe replies, “No. They found him with his head bashed in.

Merely seconds go by before Alexis hops up and settles contentedly in my lap. I’m growing quite fond of this feline.

If you saw that I worked at a library on the ‘getting laid’ database, would you swipe right?

The truth is, sometimes I’m envious of you, Oliver. People haven’t desensitized you. Relationships haven’t broken you. Society hasn’t poisoned you.

I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to a be a parent. We are protective of the ones we love.” Her eyes open slowly, meeting mine, as she reaches up to clasp my hand, giving it a tender squeeze. “Yes, we are.

I don’t anticipate that,” I tell her. “I find you visually pleasing. I don’t see how it could become problematic.” She scratches the side of her face with ebony-tipped fingers, a chuckle skimming her lips. “Do you feel the same?” “Do I find you visually pleasing?” she asks through a teasing smile. “Of course. You’re hot, Oliver.

I know who you’re talking about…” he says as his thumbs swipe away at the digital keypad. “Tabitha Brighton. Yeah, this chick.” Glancing over his shoulder, I nod. “Yes, that’s her.” “Goddamn. Where can I get one of these?” he jokes, eyeing the photograph with approval.

Her words feel like a heavy weight upon my chest, and I’m thinking of Sydney again—thinking about her own words that eclipsed my heart: You have no idea what it was like to be haunted by you for twenty-two years. Did she feel how Tabitha feels? Was I that void?

Who do you love, Oliver?” “Pardon?” Tabitha gives my hand a gentle squeeze before releasing me. “That look in your eyes—I recognize it. I stared into eyes like that every single day for weeks.

It’s important to have people in our corner, rooting for our successes,” she agrees. Tabitha’s head tilts slightly to the right as she finishes chewing her chicken. “And sometimes we need to be our own cheerleaders.” My eyes case her thoughtful expression. “How so?” “We need to fight for what’s in our hearts. No one else can do that for us,” she tells me pointedly. “And if there is anything on this earth worth fighting for, it’s love.

I’m not sure what to do,” I admit solemnly, fearfully. Tabitha’s encouraging smile shines back at me. “Be courageous. Be confident. Be bold,” she says, her voice brimming with sincerity as she reaches for my hand once more. “Be red.

Oliver…why are you here?” “I was hoping I could kiss you again.

I have a hard time believing that.” I can’t help but feel offended as my arms cross defensively. “Why is that?” “I have a hard time believing someone could kiss you and regret it.

To the lost and the wandering— You will find your way.

There are humans behind the wheels of these vehicles, some hanging out of their windows, pointing a device toward me. They are breathing the air.

She is, by far, the greatest work of art.

For the man who grants our wishes. He lives in the sky.

then,

Who’s there?” I call back. “Yoda lady.” “Yoda lady, who?” Her index finger shoots out to point in my direction. “I didn’t know you could yodel, Oliver Lynch.

Okay, I’m done being fancy. Time for booze and vulgarity.

It’s all those sex books you read. Your standards are too high.

Lorna has hated me ever since I politely declined her offer to join her Bible club a few years back. I’m assuming it’s like a book club with only one book—the Bible. Considering I like to read dark romances with lots of graphic sex and explicit language, I’m certain I would have been sitting there bored, wondering when Adam and Eve were finally going to get freaky.

I ache for you, Sydney,

I crave to be inside you more than I craved freedom in all of those twenty-two years combined.

I want you to teach me everything. How to touch you, taste you, worship you.

I love you, Syd. I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you until my dying day.

When I was five years old, I gave you my heart on your front porch, and you gave me an oatmeal cookie, and I’ve thought about that moment every single day for over two decades. Even when you were gone, you still held my heart.” “I’m not gone anymore, Syd.” His palms find my face, clasping my cheeks, tears slipping through his fingers. “I’m right here, with you, and I’m still holding on to your heart. Please don’t ask me to give it back.

He’s likely still a virgin.

I suppose I could send her an electronic message on the cellular device Gabe purchased for me, but I’ve been struggling to fully comprehend it. There are far too many icons. Gabe added a harrowing assortment of colorful bubbles to the device and told me they were called ‘apps’. Software applications, I discovered. All of them provide different functions—most for entertainment, like Bookface… which has nothing to do with books. Disappointing.

The only thing worse than not having you is having you and breaking you apart all over again.” “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.” “You don’t know that…

There’s a hurricane in her eyes, and it’s either going to swallow me whole or leave me crippled, on my knees, lost and alone among the wreckage.

The truth is, I didn’t have a heart to give. My heart was with a ghost.

God, who hurt you, Sydney?

I’m right here, with you, and I’m still holding on to your heart. Please don’t ask me to give it back.

You don’t ever forget. That ache never goes away. You just…adjust. You adjust to the void and rebuild your life around that missing piece, hoping something will come along one day and distract you just enough, that your pain abates…even if it’s only for a little while.

One person’s suffering shouldn’t take the joy out of something others may find pleasure in,

I dry-humped my best friend on my couch and then I broke his heart.

What did it feel like to you?” My mind is still spinning, my thoughts dizzy and blurred. I’ve never felt anything like that before, so I have little to compare it to, but I try to explain it the best I can. “Like every star in the galaxy tumbled to earth and crawled beneath my skin.

hearts bound and branded with the beats of one another’s.

I used to think strength was rooted in the fight. Prevailing. Surviving the things determined to tear us down. But true strength isn’t necessarily overcoming the fight—it is how we fight. It is not within the sword itself, but in how we wield it.

Those are the looks that singe me, scalding straight to the bone, leaving smoke and burn marks in their wake.

Not even this entire can of dry shampoo on my head can save me from the dark hole of depression I’ve managed to dive into, headfirst, as I stare at my bedroom wall eating fun-size Snickers bars in an X-Files onesie.

The lotus flower is an emblem for rebirth in an assortment of cultures, as well as eastern religions. It has attributes that correlate perfectly to the human condition: the lotus will bloom into the most magnificent flower, even when its roots are in the murkiest of waters.

I much prefer the monsters I create myself. I prefer them because I always win.

I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you until my dying day.

I want to experience raw emotion, inspired by other humans. Love, passion, companionship.” Sydney tightens her hold on my hand. “It’s not so simple. Some of us wait our whole lives and never really get to experience those things.

Well, it’s not a problem. I ran out of sinning to do that day and got bored. I mean, there’s only a limited number of unprotected sex acts and satanic rituals a girl can partake in before she needs to switch it up, you know?

Facebook, Oliver. You’d know what I’m talking about if you logged in more than once. All you’ve posted is an off-centered picture of a blurry raccoon.

You also only have two friends, and they’re both fake accounts.” “They told me I had funds available in a deceased relative’s account that they would help me retrieve. It sounded promising.” A sharp laugh hits me. “You didn’t even accept my friend request.” “You weren’t offering me two million dollars.

Holy hell. I feel my ovaries spontaneously fertilizing.