"Clare, I want to tell you, again, I love you. Our love has been the thread through the labyrinth, the net under the high-wire walker, the only real thing in this strange life of mine that I could ever trust. Tonight I feel that my love for you has more density in this world than I do, myself: as though it could linger on after me and surround you, keep you, hold you."
Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler’s Wife
And Clare, always Clare. Clare in the morning, sleepy and crumple-faced. Clare with her arm plunging into the papermaking vat, pulling up the mold and shaking it so, and so, to meld the fibers. Clare reading, with her hair hanging over the back of her chair, massaging balm into her cracked red hands before bed. Clare’s low voice in my ear often.
I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going, and she cannot follow.
Henry, The Time Travellers Wife by Audrey Niffeneger (via okayhoney
"I love you also means I love you more than anyone loves you, or has loved you, or will love you, and also, I love you in a way that no one loves you, or has loved you, or will love you, and also, I love you in a way that I love no one else, and never have loved anyone else, and never will love anyone else."
"baby i can feel your halo. pray it won’t fade away"