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loislib · 2 years
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Normal People (2019) by Sally Rooney
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loislib · 3 years
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Love & Gelato (2016) by Jenna Evans Welch
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loislib · 3 years
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Love for Imperfect Things (2016) by Haenim Sunim
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loislib · 3 years
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Fleabag: The Scriptures (2019) by Phoebe Waller-Bridge
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loislib · 3 years
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A Wild Sheep Chase (1982) by Haruki Murakami
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loislib · 3 years
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Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory (2019) by Raphael Bob-Waksberg
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loislib · 3 years
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Find Me (2019) by André Aciman
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loislib · 3 years
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Lord of the Butterflies (2018) by Andrea Gibson [Orlando]     It’s true what they say about the gays being so fashionable –     our ghost never go out of style,     even life is like funeral practice:     half of us already dead     to our families before we die,     half of us still on our knees     trying to crawl     into the family photo 
[“What do you think about this weather”]   Do you ever feel like the best of you is something you’re hoping to grow into? [Baby Teeth in a Landfill]   There is a world in which all the bad things   that happened didn’t really happen   and this   is not that world [Bad at Love] whole poem
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loislib · 3 years
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A Little Life (2015) by Hanya Yanagihara
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loislib · 4 years
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Extraordinary Means (2015) by Robyn Schneider I’d spent a long time walking away from that summer, that loneliness, that version of myself. And then Lane Rosen had found me by the tray return, and it turned out all the walking I’d done had been in a circle. A year ago, it had seemed like a miracle when the lesions on my lungs stopped forming and my blood tests evened out, but you can even get tired of miracles when they’re not quite big enough to cure you. Because the thing about miracles is that they’re not answers, no matter how much we want them to be. If anything, they’re even more troubling questions. But then, Latham wasn’t a place for answers, it was a place for waiting. And I had chosen long time ago to wait here alone. But if the past month had taught me anything, it was that the life you plan isn’t the life that happens to you. I hated that I was in love and grieving, because I didn’t know how to be both. It was just too much. Too many things that could go wrong. And there was too much potential pain for us to keep going. It’s strange how we can lose things that are still right there. How a barrier can go up at any moment, trapping you on the other side, keeping you from what you want. How the things that hurt the most are thing we once had. “Nothing lasts,” he said. “Even this awesome floaty feeling. We all reach for whatever we think is going to dull the pain, and sometimes we don’t even want whatever it is, we just want to not be miserable, you know?” We hadn’t finished becoming anything yet, because I’d been terrified that whatever we were was only temporary. And I’d been so, so wrong. Being temporary doesn’t make something matter any less, because the point isn’t for how long, the point is that it happened. Like ancient Greece. Like Latham. Like Lane and me. It’s so strange how the moment of your birth is this fixed point in time, but the hour of your death is always changing based on what you eat for dinner, or where you cross the street, or who you trust when you’re alone in the dark woods. But I like to think of all those little moments that add up to the final one, because it meant that my death would be my own, the result of my life, and not just something that happened to me.    Thinking about it like that made it more bearable, that we go back to God when we’ve had out turn, that some of us roll the dice less than we’d like, but we’re the ones who are rolling them. And the thing about trying to cheat death is that, in the end, you still lose. “I have a theory,” Sadie said. “That life is gathering the raw materials, and when we die, we get to make patterns out of our lives and relive them in whatever order we want. That way I can spend forever repeating the days when I was really happy, and never have to experience any of the sad days. So that's how you live a really great life. You make sure you have enough good days that you want to go back to.”
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loislib · 4 years
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The Next Person You Meet in Heaven (2019) by Mitch Albom "Forcing love is like picking a flower and insisting that it grow." "It was like a curtain had lifted. I could be done with all those men who weren't right for me, done with the stupid flirting phone calls. I was finally seeing things straight." "What happened?" Annie asked. Lorraine looked off. "Just because you see things straight doesn't mean you see them in time." "I was so ashamed. It made me hard on you, when I was trying to be hard on myself. We are blinded by our regrets, Annie. We don't realize who else we punish while we're punishing ourselves." "Why didn't I feel this before?" she asked. "Because we embrace our scars more than our healing." Lorraine said. "We can recall the exact day we got hurt, but who remembers the day the wound was gone?" And while she didn't know it then, she was learning another truth about love: it comes when it comes. Simple as that.
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loislib · 4 years
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The Madness Vase (2011) by Andrea Gibson
[Maybe I Need You]  Love, isn't always magic  Sometimes its just melting  Or its black and blue  Where it hurts the most.  Maybe I need you the way that big moon needs that open sea,  Maybe I didn't even know I was here, 'til I saw you holding me. [I Sing The Body Electric, Especially When The Power Is Out]  I started talking to the stars instead.  I said, "Tell me about the big bang."  The stars said, "It hurts to become."
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loislib · 6 years
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We Are The Ants (2016) by Shaun David Hutchinson
As human beings, we’re born believing that we are the apex of creation, that we are invincible, that no problem exists that we cannot solve. But we inevitably die with all our beliefs broken.
When the days are darkest, dear, you latch on to happiness wherever you find it.
The farther we are from someone, the further we live in their past.
As human beings, we seek meaning in everything. We’re so good at discovering patterns that we see them where they don’t exist.
Maybe love doesn’t require falling after all. Maybe it only requires that you choose to be in it.
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loislib · 6 years
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The Light We Lost (2017) by Jill Santopolo
So there was time. We had time. And maybe it would be like you and your mom—you could love me from a distance while you were gone, and then come back when you’d finished an assignment. That didn’t seem terrible. That could work.
Do you still have it? Did you keep mementos like I did, objects to remind you of our life together? Or did you outgrow us as you traveled, tossing memories out with matchboxes and coffee mugs?
I turned on the sink and started washing the dishes, not able to stop the tears that overflowed onto my cheeks. I knew then, really knew in my heart, that you would leave me one day soon. This dream you had wasn’t a someday dream, it was a right-now dream. You would never be happy in New York. You would never be happy with just me. You needed to confront your disappointment in the world, to work through it, if you were going to end up okay. Even then, I understood that. I just hoped you’d come back.
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loislib · 6 years
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The Beginning of Everything (2013) by Robyn Schneider
The funny thing about gold is how quickly it can tarnish.
I thought about the metal in my knee, replacing this piece of me that was missing, that no longer worked. And it wasn’t my heart, I kept telling myself. It wasn’t my heart.
She lent a spark, perhaps, or tendered the flame, but the arson was mine.
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loislib · 6 years
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Origin (2017) by Dan Brown Love is from another realm. We cannot manufacture it on demand. Nor can we subdue it when it appears. Love is not our choice to make.
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loislib · 6 years
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Turtles All the Way Down (2017) by John Green
It’s just weird, how this is decided by someone I don’t know and then I have to live by it. Like, I live on someone else’s schedule. And I’ve never even met them.
I was so good at being a kid, and so terrible at being whatever I was now.
We never really talked much or even looked at each other, but it didn’t matter because we were looking at the same sky together, which is maybe even more intimate than eye contact anyway. I mean, anybody can look at you. It’s quite rare to find someone who sees the same world you see. I thought about him asking me if I’d ever been in love. It’s a weird phrase in English, in love, like it’s a sea you drown in or a town you live in. You don’t get to be in anything else—in friendship or in anger or in hope. All you can be in is love. The worst part of being truly alone is you think about all the times you wished that everyone would just leave you be. Then they do, and you are left being, and you turn out to be terrible company. I missed everybody. To be alive is to be missing.
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