There's something uncontaminated about her, and I don't even mean sexually or whatever. I mean the way she is, at her core. Like when you wake up and the world has been blanketed by snow overnight, and not a single footstep or tire track has spoiled the untouched perfection of it.

We talked--recent history only--and Lucas relayed the story of how Francis came to be his roommate. "He showed up at the door one night, demanding to be let in. Napped on the sofa for an hour, then demanded to be let out. It turned into a nightly ritual, with him staying longer and longer, until at some point I realized he'd moved in. He's basically the most brazen squatter ever.

He was in a slow-motion mood-one of my favorites, though it meant i'd be driven crazy before we were done.

Everyone isn’t logical. Everything doesn’t make sense in the end. Sometimes you have to forget about explanations or excuses and leave people and places behind, because otherwise they will drag you straight down.

I could never be afraid of you.

Look at me, Emma." Her eyes are full, the lids heavy. "Graham," she breathes. "I need you to hear me." Cradling her head in my hands, thumbs sweeping her tears away, I stare into her eyes. "I belong to you. There is no one else. All I want is to be where you are.

They call it 'falling in love' because it's less like stepping and more like tripping. Tripping is the part where you're still trying to remain upright