Without A Second Thought, Linus Reached Up And Cupped Arthurs Face. His Skin Was Hot, But Linus Wasnt

Without a second thought, Linus reached up and cupped Arthur’s face. His skin was hot, but Linus wasn’t afraid of being singed and blackened. Arthur would never allow it. The fire tickled against the backs of his hands. “There, there,” Linus said quietly. “That’s enough of that, I think. You’ve made your point quite well.”  - The House in the Cerulean Sea

I love a good desperate face grab - some excellent face holding in this book!

And again the moment from 16 chapter of “the house in the cerulean sea”

I so much love Arthur Parnassus 🥺❤️

finished reading the house in the cerulean sea

The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune 🌻 I am smitten with this book

listening to hozier got me writing on my notes app again

back in sixth grade, I wrote everything I wanted to tell myself when I turn 21. I haven't opened that notebook yet, but I remember asking if I was still friends with the people I met on wattpad, which is funny because I abandoned that account years ago. this February, I told myself I'll write a poem about love, but I ended up with a letter to my future self. not the person I will be ten years from now, but the person whose wrinkles are evident, with graying hair, and hard earned wisdom.

I want to write for the person whose arms could be covered in ink, or knitted sleeves, or paint splatters. the person with dirt on her fingers from gardening, something I used to hate, but now reminds me of my mother. the person I'll become once all my thirst for competition had died out.

this is an ode to someone who doesn't exist yet, someone I hope I'll become. a woman of old age, with back pain, short term memory loss, and spite. i respect her with all my heart, for when she sits on a porch with cats as her children, devoid of people to talk to, I want her to talk to the person she was. i hope she'll look back and realize she's living the life I've always wanted.

i hope she's not like the woman in our neighborhood who yells at her grandchildren everyday, shrieking with a voice full of something I could only describe as misery. I hope the woman I'll become has no regrets. no one she'll loathe till death.

this is an open letter, a dream on a paper, a confession of how much I want to be happy if I'll ever be cursed with too much time. if I somehow outlive everyone I loved, I hope she'll still remember that the eighteen year old version of herself loves her. she is mine, and she's who I will be.

when I grow old and receive no letters, when I have no children to take care of me, no husband that ever existed, when I await my death slowly, I want her to read my words. she was a loud kid who dreamed about getting old. i hope her wrinkles and old age wouldn't bother her, because that's everything I could ever hope for.