Pen Pal Jt Geissinger Quotes

Funny thing, isn’t it, hindsight? It’s memory, but with new understanding tacked on, so that the past means something different than it did before.

Fucking hell, you’re sweet. You’re so goddamn sweet, I just want to sink my teeth into every inch of you.

You’re the chaos. You’re the storm. You’re the one creating the high winds and choppy seas you have to navigate. You’re the source of everything that’s happening. In other words, you’re the one with the power.

I never lost you. Who do you think has been ringing the doorbell this whole time?

Kayla, be careful with me.” Surprised by that, I ask, “What do you mean?” “I know you think I’m strong. But the problem with strong things is that they’re brittle. They can’t bend under stress. They just break.

I was giving you space. Didn’t think it would turn into distance.

I learned that love means nothing unless it’s acted upon. Love isn’t real without intent. It’s a verb. It isn’t passive.

Hell is a state of mind, my dear. Reality is simply what we believe it to be. Each of us makes our own truths, even ghosts.

Even small dragons can still breathe fire.

love means nothing unless it’s acted upon. Love isn’t real without intent. It’s a verb. It isn’t passive. But most of all, love means sacrifice. Whatever love asks of you must be given, no matter the price.

What we call memory is the intersection between imagination and fact. Memories are the stories we tell ourselves about the important events in our lives. In the telling, some details get lost, others embellished, until truth is closer to fiction.

You are not controlling the storm, and you are not lost in it. You are the storm.

Hey, bunny,” he says softly, his eyes shining with adoration. “Did you miss me?

I’ll wait forever if I have to.” That’s it. There’s nothing else, except a signature scratched below the words. Dante.

How naïve we are when we’re young. How easily we trust that the sun will keep rising and setting, warming our days. And what a terrible blow it is to discover it isn’t the sun that makes things bright, but the people who love us, so that when they’re gone, everything is plunged into darkness.

a quote from Henry David Thoreau: “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.

And exactly what is it you think I need, Aidan?” “To forget everything so you can remember who you are again.

It’s incredible how many different people one body can hold. We all walk around with a thousand strangers inside us, slumbering quietly until someone else wakes them up. Like the jolt of electricity that reanimated Frankenstein’s monster, all it takes for our sleeping giants to jump to life is a single spark.

I’m gonna devour you, little bunny rabbit, piece by tasty piece. I’m going to eat. You. Up.

It’s worth it. No matter how bad it can get, no matter if it all falls apart in the end, it’s worth every minute.

Don’t judge a book by its cover, lover boy. I know I look like the girl next door, but inside, I’m more like The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

We’re not introverts. We’re misanthropes. Big difference.

The path to paradise begins in hell. ~ The Divine Comedy

When someone dies, you start counting all the ways you failed them.

I really don’t understand men. Dealing with men is like dealing with a hostile alien species who crash-landed on the planet and decided our language and customs are too silly to be bothered with, and henceforth we should be treated with mild disdain and/or as objects of occasional sexual release before being ignored as inferior beings again.

Pain is the cost of love. And the deeper your love goes, so too goes the pain. You can never have one without the other.

I read somewhere that grief is more than an emotion. It’s a physical experience, too. All kinds of nasty stress chemicals get released into the bloodstream when a person is grieving. Fatigue, nausea, headaches, dizziness, food aversion, insomnia… The list of side-effects is long.

I sometimes wonder what will be left on my to-do list when I die.

What we need is a séance.” I say flatly, “That’s ridiculous.” “No, the federal tax rate is ridiculous. This is simply a situation that needs to be remedied.

But most of all, love means sacrifice.

Funny thing, isn’t it, hindsight? It’s memory, but with new understanding tacked on, so that the past means something different than it did before. And the only way to find that meaning is to look for it. Look to the past.

I mail it before I lose my nerve. It takes a week before I get a response, and it’s even shorter than mine. In fact, it’s only one word. You.

What are you waiting for? I mail it before I lose my nerve. It takes a week before I get a response, and it’s even shorter than mine. In fact, it’s only one word. You.

Never met a woman who thinks louder than you do.” “Sorry. I’m always up in my head.

Hindsight is a real bitch sometimes.

I knew one of those once. She was only four-foot-ten, but she scared the living shit outta me.” I smile at him. “Even small dragons can still breathe fire.

he says softly, “Tell me what you need from me.” I’ve never had a man ask me that before.

So many words, and all so meaningless. Everything is meaningless.

I’m only amazing when I’m with you. The rest of the time, I’m nobody.

I learned that love means nothing unless it’s acted upon. Love isn’t real without intent. It’s a verb. It isn’t passive. But most of all, love means sacrifice

Then he murmurs, “What I’m worried about is giving my heart away to a woman who’s still wearing a wedding ring.

Oh, that reminds me. You promised you were going to make love to me, not fuck me.” “Semantics.

Aidan disappears, replaced in an instant by a predator. A dangerous, beautiful predator, poised to shred me to bits with sharp teeth.

Bad bunny,” he whispers. “So bad.

Ow!” “Say you’re sorry for trying to run away, bunny.” “No! I’m not sorry!

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come. ∼ Rabindranath Tagore

We’re magnets who don’t want to be magnets, pulled together by invisible elements beyond our control.

We skipped the dinner dates and polite conversation and jumped straight to kinky fuckery.

I don’t believe in ghosts.” She gazes at me steadily. “What you believe is immaterial, Kayla. Because ghosts most definitely believe in you.

So it’s my new favorite sound. I want to hear it again.

but the distance doesn’t make the longing go away. I can still taste your skin. Dante

Grief has blown me apart, scattering my bones into a desert wasteland where they’ll bake in silence under a merciless sun for a thousand years.

I like him. That surprises me. I’m not prone to liking people in general.

His mouth next to my ear, he says in a guttural voice, “Is this what you need, baby? You like it rough? Or do you want me to recite some poetry and make you a cup of fucking tea?” “This! This!

Sweet bunny,” he whispers, still chuckling. “I think you like me.” Flaming with embarrassment, I say, “Nah, I just need my roof fixed, and I thought I’d shag your brains out to see if I could get a discount.

With his hands in my hair and his face turned to my neck, he says gruffly, “If you decide this isn’t what you want, promise me you’ll end it before I fall in love with you.” “I promise,” I whisper, fighting tears all over again.

I thought we were negotiating.” “We are.” “Then you can’t just keep saying the same number.” “Says who?” “Says me!” “Lucky for me, you’re not the one with the upper hand here.” I stare at him in outrage with my mouth hanging open. Then a strange thing happens: he smiles. “I just wanted to see what you’d do when I said that.” I’d like to run him over with my car. I say firmly, “Forty-five hundred.” “Ninety-nine-ninety-nine.” “You’ve got to be kidding me.

Kissing my neck, he whispers back, “How do you want me to fuck you, sweet Kayla?” Oh God. There isn’t enough time in the world to cover all of it. “Um…vigorously?” He drops his forehead to my shoulder and dissolves into soft laughter.

Whatever love asks of you must be given, no matter the price. And I’d gladly give what love asked of me a thousand times over. Even if I had to do it every day until the end of eternity, I’d slice open my own veins with a razor blade and happily bleed myself dry.

Watching them, I’m shot through the heart with an arrow of anguish. The kiss. The companionship. The simple joy of being with someone you love, sharing a laugh and a drink. Thinking you have all the time in the world until, out of nowhere, that clock stops ticking.

I wish you knew how perfect you are. How different and perfect. I’ve never met anyone like you. Whenever we’re together, I feel like a new man. A better man. Like everything bad that’s ever happened to me doesn’t matter anymore because your sweet smile takes it all away.

He’s exactly what I needed. A handsome stranger with secrets in his eyes and a way of looking at me as if he already knows everything there is to know about me. As if I’m a book he’s read a thousand times and highlighted all his favorite passages. As if he already knows how this is going to end.

You’re spending the night.” I blink in surprise. “Are you a mind reader or something?” “No. Why?” “Um. No reason.” “Bullshit.” “Okay, fine. I was just wondering if I should go home now.” “I just told you that you’re spending the night. You can leave in the morning and have the rest of your life to worry that this was a mistake, but for tonight, you’re staying right here.

I wouldn’t have blamed him. Had he been on top of his meds, I really wouldn’t. Mental illness isn’t something you do to yourself. It’s not a choice. Your brain gets sabotaged by chemicals that are beyond your control. What is in your control, however, is your response to the sabotage. He was too proud to stay on his treatment plan. He thought he could handle his illness by himself. In his arrogance, he thought willpower alone was strong enough to conquer biology. He was wrong.

The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri.

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come. ~ Rabindranath Tagore

I’ll leave you with something Helen Keller once said: “Death is no more than passing from one room to another.” I suppose we’ll all eventually find out.

now I know what you sound like when you come.” “So what about it?” He lowers his head and bites my earlobe, then says gruffly, “So it’s my new favorite sound. I want to hear it again.

Something approximating a smile lifts the corners of his mouth, but disappears before it commits to staying.

Watching them, I’m shot through the heart with an arrow of anguish. The kiss. The companionship. The simple joy of being with someone you love, sharing a laugh and a drink. Thinking you have all the time in the world until out of nowhere that clock stops ticking.

My plan is to get you naked and find out how you sound when you come.” “Holy...” “I don’t want you drunk, though. I want you to remember everything so you come back for more.

Here in this bed, this is what happens: I give. You take. You’ll take and you’ll take until you break, then you’ll beg me to break you all over again.

I know you think I’m strong. But the problem with strong things is that they’re brittle. They can’t bend under stress. They just break.

I read somewhere that grief is more than an emotion. It’s a physical experience, too. All kinds of nasty stress chemicals get released into the bloodstream when a person is grieving. Fatigue, nausea, headaches, dizziness, food aversion, insomnia… The list of side-effects is long. I’ve got them all.

I’ve always had a problem over-empathizing with other people, which is one of the reasons I tend to keep to myself. Everyone else’s emotions piled on top of my own can get suffocating sometimes.

Yeah, we’re gonna do that. Right now. Because I almost went fucking crazy thinking about you today, and if you’re not into this, I’d rather know sooner than later.

How easily we trust that the sun will keep rising and setting, warming our days. And what a terrible blow it is to discover it isn’t the sun that makes things bright, but the people who love us, so that when they’re gone, everything is plunged into darkness.

It’s incredible how many different people one body can hold. We all walk around with a thousand strangers inside us, slumbering quietly until someone else wakes them up.

The dangerous thing about distractions, though, is how quickly they can grow addicting.

Gazing at me with soft eyes, he says, “I’m not. You’re just drunk with afterglow.” My laugh is low and throaty. “Is that like beer goggles but with sex?

know you think I’m strong. But the problem with strong things is that they’re brittle. They can’t bend under stress. They just break.

Yeah? You a man?” I send him a sour look. “Not the last time I checked.” “Then you don’t know what’s emasculating. Keep your money.

Then he says quietly, “Kayla, be careful with me.” Surprised by that, I ask, “What do you mean?” “I know you think I’m strong. But the problem with strong things is that they’re brittle. They can’t bend under stress. They just break.

We all walk around with a thousand strangers inside us, slumbering quietly until someone else wakes them up.

Raining hard, as if the sky itself is about to rip in half like my heart has.

No, it’s necessary. We need to communicate clearly about these things.” I frown at him. “Since when are you Mr. Conversation? Half the time, I barely get a grunt out of you.” Kneeling over me and stroking his palm over one of my burning ass cheeks, he smiles. “That’s funny.” “In what way, exactly?” “I talk to you more in one day than I talk to anyone else in a week.

When I’m looking at him, he says, “You said you were a good BS spotter. So tell me if you think this is BS. I want you. You want me, too. You’re sad. I want to make you feel better, even if that only means for tonight. You’re not afraid of me. You know I won’t hurt you. You’re just a little fucked up right now, you’re not used to people saying exactly what they mean, and you’re not sure how to handle it.

And I’d gladly give what love asked of me a thousand times over. Even if I had to do it every day until the end of eternity, I’d slice open my own veins with a razor blade and happily bleed myself dry.

I break under the strain before he does. “I have your money.” He looks at my empty hands. “Do I have to dig around in your backyard for it, or are you gonna give it to me?

She takes a seat at the circle and looks down at her coffee. No one greets her. She doesn’t acknowledge anyone else, either. It’s as if she’s in her own little bubble of pain, cut off from everything else.

I say firmly, “I’m not having sex with you.” “Okay.” “I’m serious, Aidan. I’m not in the right headspace to be hooking up with anyone right now.” “I hear you.” I narrow my eyes and examine his expression. “Why does that sound like you still think I’m going to sleep with you?” “Because I do. But I could be wrong. It happens.” We stare at each other for a moment, until he says softly, “I hope I’m not, though. I really want to make you come.

I’m just being paranoid. That has to be it. The alternative is too terrifying.

If only the whole world were made up of such kind people.

Honestly? I haven’t been less okay in probably never.

I’d ask if you were making a joke, but I’m pretty sure humor isn’t in your wheelhouse.” “You don’t know me. I could be hilarious.” We gaze at each other. Neither one of us smiles.

You say that like negotiating is your favorite thing.” “It is.” “Hmm. I would’ve guessed charming potential clients with your dazzling sense of humor.” “No. That’s my second favorite thing.” We’re staring at each other again. Once again, neither of us is smiling.

Either he’s trying not to smile, or he’s having painful stomach cramps. It’s hard to tell. The man has a face like a brick wall.

But I don’t want to think about that. Because thinking about it would mean remembering it, reliving it, and I’m not prepared for that yet. I doubt I’ll ever be.

No need to make that face. I don’t bite.” “I’m not making any face. And the biting thing is debatable.” “You don’t like me very much, do you?” I exhale heavily, then take another swig of scotch. “This will sound cliché, but it’s not you. It’s me.” “You’re right. It does sound cliché.” “If I told you the reason, you’d understand.” “So tell me the reason.

Oh God, who cares? This is all too much for me.