literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Retribution: Chapter 33
Marianne sat in front of the mirror in Hélène’s bedroom while Hélène arranged her hair. The morning before, she had washed it using egg yolks and then sat outside in the sun to let it dry. Lemon juice had been drizzled into her hair before she let it dry outside to bring out its golden highlights. Today, she had spent several hours in wave clamps and curlers. Hélène twisted each curl, stiff and sticky from permanent wave lotion, and pinned to Marianne’s head. The rest of her golden hair rippled in exaggerated waves.
By Rachel Lesch8 years ago in Humans
Paper Towns and the Unrequited Complex
My name is Hannah, and I am an English major, so be prepared for a really strange perspective. Yesterday, as I sat among my fellow English majors in my Eighteenth-Century British Novel class with the Austrailian professor, a little part of me broke. Earlier that morning, I'd texted a friend of mine from high school - ya know, one of those coulda, shoulda, woulda if he liked me back kinda friends.
By Hannah Kay8 years ago in Humans
I Leave You With This
She was the last thing I clearly thought about before I died. Every detail was precise; creating a phantom of her next to me that I knew I couldn’t actually touch. I couldn’t trace the crescent-like lining of her vitiligo that peaks from above her left ear, trailing towards between her lips to the back of the right side of her jaw, or kiss her after. I couldn’t wipe the tears from her spectral eyes and I couldn’t say goodbye. I knew this was going to happen, that they would kill me, so I planned ahead. She’ll find my letters and she’ll have me in her hands. I rather her treasure me as paper than as a memory of my limp and empty shell. She’ll find my letters.
By Troi Speaks8 years ago in Humans
