Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.
It’s not the face, but the expressions on it. It’s not the voice, but what you say. It’s not how you look in that body, but the thing you do with it. You are beautiful.
And it was different because I’d already lost her so many times, so many ways, in my head. And different because she was never really mine to lose. And different because this wasn’t my fault.
Edward: It wasn’t the worst night of my life. Jake: Did it make the top ten? Edward: Possibly. But, if I had been able to take your place last night, it would not have made the top ten of the best nights of my life. Dream about that.
Before I tell you my story, Jasper said. you must understand that there are places in our world, Bella, where the life span of the never-aging is measured in weeks, and not centuries.
