One Last Stop
Casey McQuistonQuotes
She says she loved every girl like summer: bright and warm and fleeting, never too deep because she’d be gone soon.
“I still feel trapped sometimes, in my head. Like, even when I’m with my friends, and I’m having fun, and I’m doing all the dumb, small life things, sometimes it still feels like something’s wrong. Like something’s wrong with me.”
And it is August’s life. But Myla is looking at her like she doesn’t care—not in the way people have for most of August’s life—but like how she looks at Niko when he recites Neruda to his plants, or Wes when he stubbornly spends hours disassembling and rebuilding a piece of Ikea furniture someone put together wrong. Like it’s another inconsequential quirk of someone she loves.
August’s brain tries “hi” and her mouth goes for “morning” and what comes out is, “Horny.”
She moves suddenly, the way she does when she’s feeling something big, and scoops August up in her arms and spins her around. “Oh my god, you’re fucking magic.”
August thinks, as her feet lift off the ground, that nobody has ever caller her magic in her entire life.
Truth is, when you spend your whole life alone, it’s incredibly appealing to move somewhere big enough to get lost in, where being alone looks like a choice.
I left a bloodstain on that booth over there. I kissed that bartender. That one slept on my couch last week. Anybody who says punk isn’t queer doesn’t know what punk is.