12 notes

Maybe Schuyler was crazy to think it would last, that any of it — their love, their joy together would hold, given the darkness that had been part of their union from the beginning — and later she would wish she had enjoyed it more that she had spent less time poring through books, less time at the library alone, less time removing his arms from her waist, telling him to wait, or missing dinner so that she could go over the papers again and again, she would wish for one more night spent in a roadside café, holding hands under the table, one more night when they would sit side by side in bed, reading, as he rested a hand on her knee.