The idea that their paths might have easily not crossed leaves her breathless, like a near-miss accident on a highway, and she can't help marveling at the sheer randomness of it all. Like any survivor of chance, she feels a quick rush of thankfulness, part adrenaline and part hope.
Jennifer E. SmithChildhood memories were like airplane luggage; no matter how far you were traveling or how long you needed them to last, you were only ever allowed two bags. And while those bags might hold a few hazy recollections—a diner with a jukebox at the table, being pushed on a swing set, the way it felt to be picked up and spun around—it didn’t seem enough to last a whole lifetime.
Jennifer E. SmithMots clés childhood-memories
Exactly. How can you know it makes you happy if you’ve never experienced it?”
“There are different kinds of happy,” she said. “Some kinds don’t need any proof.
Mots clés happiness
From: EONeill22@hotmail.com
Sent: Saturday, June 8, 2013 1:18 PM
To: GDL824@yahoo.com
Subject: what happy looks like
Sunrises over the harbor. Ice cream on a hot day. The sound of the waves down the street. The way my dog curls up next to me on the couch. Evening strolls. Great movies. Thunderstorms. A good cheeseburger. Fridays. Saturdays. Wednesdays, even. Sticking your toes in the water. Pajama pants. Flip-flops. Swimming. Poetry. The absence of smiley faces in an e-mail.
What does it look like to you?
Mots clés what-happy-looks-like
It seemed to Ellie that you could tell a lot about someone by the way they carried a secret—by how safe they kept it, how soon they told, the way they acted when they were trying to keep it from spilling out.
Jennifer E. SmithMots clés keeping-secrets
I never said I was good,” he told her, taking the pen. “Just that I liked doing it.”
“That’s the best kind of good.
It was exactly as he’d thought it would be, like the first time and the millionth time all at once, like being wide awake, like losing his balance. Only this time, it wasn’t just him; this time, they were losing their balance together.
Jennifer E. SmithMots clés kiss
Salutations," he said, and she smiled.
"Good morning."
"Yeah," he said. "It really is.
Mots clés love
Now Hadley presses her forehead against the window of the taxi and once again finds herself smiling at the thought of him. He's like a song she can't get out of her head. Hard as she tries, the melody of their meeting runs through her mind on an endless loop, each time as surprisingly sweet as the last, like a lullaby, like a hymn, and she doesn't think she could ever get tired of hearing it.
Jennifer E. SmithFrom: GDL824@yahoo.com
Sent: Monday, June 10, 2013 4:24 PM
To: EONeill22@hotmail.com
Subject: birds of a feather
I couldn't find the rock you were talking about, but I think I'm at the right place. It's pretty much just me and the seagulls, so I should be easy to spot...
(I'm the one without feathers.)
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