No, she learned that true love was epic stuff, as told by Mary.
Harriet EvansIt was dreadful, when she thought about it with the tiniest bit of hindsight, to admit this was the case. That a small part of herself was such a masochist, so enjoyed putting herself through all of this, that she liked hearing sad songs on the radio and staring gloomily out the window late at night. The tears in her eyes as she walked home of an evening, thinking about how much she loved him and how great they were together. It was so adolescent.
Harriet EvansIt's different up here, you know."
"I know," said Laura miserably. "I was -- enjoying myself, that's all."
Nick watched her for a moment. "Don't look so tragic about it, Laura. It's not a crime to enjoy yourself, you know."
"Yes, it is," muttered Laura, feeling as if she were in some biblical parable, the one where the Lord wreaks vengeance on the stupid girl who is a foolish wanton by removing the last shred of common sense in her brain.
Are you sure it wouldn't work?" said Jo urgently, in a quiet voice. "Are you sure you don't want to see him again?
Laura wanted to laugh. Those were two totally separate things, weren't they?
You don't fall in love with someone because it's convenient.
Harriet EvansDarling, you fall in love all the time. You can't run away just because it doesn't fit into your exact romantic dreamworld, you know.
Harriet EvansWhat she didn't say was:
"Can I punch both your sisters?"
"How do you cope with this, all the time?"
"Why can't it be the two of us, like it was before?"
And,
"Do you realize I've fallen for you?
I'm not going to tell you how I think you should live your life, or what I think you should do," said Mary. "Now's not the time. But I will say this: Don't try to paper over things that matter, Laura. The cracks will appear. Maybe not immediately, but they will.
Harriet EvansWhy do you want the world to be black and white? It's not.
Harriet EvansNot to be with the one you love, Laura, the one person you should be spending your life with--it’s like a kind of living death. To wake up every morning and know you are still here. To have that brief, sweet moment of blankness, before your mind reminds you who you are, and why you are unhappy. It was like hell. A living hell of the heart’s own making.
Harriet EvansTag: love heartbreak
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