All The Things We Cannot Say Novels & Stories

I'm sorry. "I am fine. I just- it just feels different to think about leaving it all and going back to our normal lives." Some feelings can never be expressed in words. "Catty, what are you sayi-" "I know. Ethel, I know that you don't understand me. But to be honest with you, I can't explain this myself. It's a feeling that only I can feel. It's just hard to express." Damn me! I was making an issue out of nothing.

“You are just saying it. When it happens, you will feel bad about it and maybe recent me a bit.” “I know what you are thinking, but don’t think it that way. We are going to work out the problem together.”

It was as if I was groping in the dark about what I should do to get rid of all this fear. “What are we?” It just came out of my mouth on its own. I don't know what to call this relationship. It's as if even though there are feelings that are developing, many things are not possible. It's as if you're not allowed to step on the possibilities that are forbidden to step on. I know I’m too demanding if you look closely but is it wrong to know what I’m worth? "We are happy."

What’s this thing you’re trying not to do? Don’t say it’s nothing. There’s someone else you’re trying not to be, right there behind your eyes. I see it. Look at me. Please.

Please listen to my rambling; I need you to see that I cannot live without you. So forget about it. Yes, it will be very hard, but forget about the things that you cannot change. Don't be a prisoner of it.

I said, trying to free my leg but failing. "The only thing you can do now is to come clean about all the terrible things you've done in the past. Every single one of them."

They cannot un-exist us. And somewhere far away, in the silent corridors of the Council, alarms blinked and analysts whispered, realizing for the first time: the system could no longer contain what refused to be contained.

I said, which was different, the shift from a factual claim to a statement about what should be allowed to exist, and I heard the difference and I thought he probably heard it too. "What exactly cannot be?" he said. "This," I said. "Whatever this is becoming. Not like this. Not inside all of this." I gestured slightly, meaning the atrium and the situation and the week and the estate and everything that surrounded whatever was happening between us. "Nothing that starts this way is supposed to become real." "And yet," he said. Two words. He left them open rather than finishing them, and the openness of them was worse than a complete sentence would have been.

Meant everything becoming nothing. And that was unacceptable. Unbearable. Impossible to accept. So we showed. We proved. We convinced. Or we died trying. Together. For everything.

Full of love. "There are things I need to tell you. Things that can't wait. Things that have been waiting for you. Things that have been waiting for this moment. Things that have been waiting for you to be ready. Things that have been waiting for you to be strong enough to hear them. Things that have been waiting for you to be brave enough to face them. Things that have been waiting for you to be wise enough to understand them. Things that have been waiting for you to be whole enough to accept them. Things that have been waiting for you to be open enough to receive them. Things that have been waiting for you to be free enough to embrace them. Things that have been waiting for you to be ready