I want to know what you see when you look at me.

I want to know what you see when you look at me.
" His fingers dug into my shoulders. "
I want to know your favorite Stooge and the hour you were born and the thing that scares you more than anything else in the world.

I want to know," he said, "what you look like when you fall asleep."

He traced the line of my chin with his finger.

"I want to be there when you wake up."

For a moment I saw the life I might have, wrapped in the laughter of his big family, writing my name beside his in the old family Bible, watching him leave in the morning.

I saw all these things I had wished for my whole life, but the images made me tremble.
It wasn't meant to be;
I didn't know the first thing about fitting into such a normal, solid scene.

"You aren't safe anymore," I whispered.
He then looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time.
"Neither are you," he said.

Jodi Picoult-Harvesting the Heart

No comments:

Post a Comment