Fitzgerald, you can have me. Every bit of me is yours.
He felt the young lips, her body sighing in relief against the arm growing stronger to hold her. There were now no more plans than if Dick had arbitrarily made some indissoluble mixture, with atoms joined and inseparable; you could throw it all out, but never again could they fit back into atomic scale. As he held her and tasted her, and as she curved in further and further toward him, with her own lips, new to herself, drowned and engulfed in love, yet solaced and triumphant, he was thankful to have an existence at all, if only as a reflection in her wet eyes (Tender is the Night, 155).
It steals my heart and soul. All of me..gone.
But I figured it out. I figured out how to arrange words to create beauty.
Ready? Just write and write and write and write and write and write. Buy notebooks in bulk and fill them up.
All of them.
Then throw them away and start again.
Over and over and over until it’s beautiful.