Just fucking hold her.
Hold her hands so fucking tight you think your skin would merge together.
Hold her hands tight while you still can because three months later after you’ve already left she won’t remember what it felt like to kiss you,
or what it felt like to make love to you,
but she will wake up tracing the places your thumb touched her arms,
and her shoulders,
and her back,
and her ribs,
and her thighs,
and she will clasp her hands together and hold them against her chest because
maybe she will never fall in love with someone who held her like they held the entire universe in their hands,
and maybe she will find many people who will kiss her softer, harder, slower, faster, better
than you ever did but she will never get rid of how empty her hands feel
when they’re not curled around yours
and maybe that’s the saddest part
of losing you."
"People say to you, ‘you’ve changed’, or something like that, well, I hope, for the sake of God that you have changed, because I don’t want to be the same person all my life. I want to be growing, I want to be expanding. I want to be changing. Because animate things change, inanimate things don’t change. Dead things don’t change. And the heart should be alive, it should be changing, it should be moving, it should be growing, its knowledge should be expanding."