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288 pages, Paperback
First published June 22, 2023
โAnother girl like me exists, and she is the most perfect girl in the world. The awful deed is done, our perfect love comes to life. I am hers, and she is mine.โ
โTonight I find myself looking for her scent in the air, her touch in the pillowcase. Itโs a strain to find meaning where there is none. Itโs such a teenaged thing to do, why can I not stop doing it? Not everything is a symbol. Sometimes the world is plain and obvious. Sometimes the things I feel and the things I want donโt matter.โ
โThe Summer has been just a little bit too warm, the sun has been a little too bright. My thoughts have been a little bit too uncontrollable. And my emotions a little too humid. They only grow more humid. It all just gets stickier. Soon I think I will be unable to go even one day without lying on the grass with her.โ
โNasty rumours, which are scarcely confirmed and forever rememberedโฆThis is not a forgiving place. The fear of it takes me over. It takes us all over. We all have secrets, everybody is hiding something.โ
โAt last, I am defined. All my lonely days were not wasted, they led me to this most perfect union, this weaving of our two souls. The parts of me that were once afraid can no longer be found.Perhaps they will come back to terrify me again, but for now, I canโt feel them. For now, I allow myself to be wanted by her.โ
โ I live in a body that has loved her and I see with eyes that have witnessed her. She is part of my muscles, my tissue, she is unforgettable.โ
โI always thought a place like Crossmore would kill a person like me, but I realise now that places like Crossmore are made for people like me. There is space for me, for us, out on the edges, among the ruins and the hedges and the stone walls. These things are immovable. They belong to the world and cannot be altered. I hope that Susannah and I are like these things.I carve our initials into trees and scratch them onto rocks, hoping that a piece of us will remain in the landscape.โ
โNever in all my years of Christianity has there been talk of an angel like this.โ
โโMy love now seems to be an aggressive, political thing. It is the ceaseless search for an identity and then committing to that identity. It is a fight to exist in my own home. Is that not exhausting? Is it worth it? It feels like the good parts of loving have been thrown on the backseat and forgotten about.โ
โIf everybody loved me as much as they claim to, I donโt think I would be in this position, back and forth between them like a pendulum, always stuck between her and everything else in the world. I am so sick I could scream.โ
โBeing in his company has become so loaded. Now that he thinks I am almost his girlfriend, itโs like I am no longer his friendโฆOur boundaries, our language, our movements, they must all be monitored, I must bend over backwards to stop from hurting or arousing his feelings.โ
โThese days all anyone wants to talk about is what is going to happen next, so much so that nobody cares about whatโs happening now. All Susannah wants to do is run away, and all Martin wants to do is settle down, and I realise that Iโve only ever thought of ways to keep everyone happy, so I have no idea what I wantโ
To be with her is a sin, to be without her is a tragedy
All my life [my mum] has been my only role model, my greatest aspiration, but since I started to see her as a person beyond a parent, I have seen her as a grave misfortune, and now I cannot go back to the way I saw her before. Without all the mysticism of being my mother, she is just a woman, exactly like me, only with less time ahead of her () Maybe Iโm just too immature, maybe I could be happy too. Really, I donโt even need to be happy, I just need to be the same as everybody else.
Since I have known her, Susannah has been a flame in bloom. She took me from ash and made me human. I fear if she spends one more day in the garden, her flame will dwindle, and to ash I will return.
She took her eucharist before me, and I quietly apologised to Jesus for the downgrade from her tongue to mine.
Her hair is fire against the foxgloves, and the last of the summer sunlight is sacrificing itself to fall on her. The wind slows till it is less than a breath. How calm the air can be; look at how she smoulders.
She looks at me now like I am a thing that she wants, a thing worth having. I have been a wanted thing before, many times โ it doesnโt mean anything if you donโt want the person back. Before her, I was only ever preyed upon. Now I feel I am worshipped.
"I live in a body that has loved her and I see with eyes that have witnessed her. She is part of my muscles, my tissue, she is unforgettable."