aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe // highlighted.

we didn’t talk much. we just lay there and looked up at the stars.

“too much light pollution,” he said.

“too much light pollution,” i answered.


and it seemed to me that dante’s face was a map of the world. a world without any darkness. wow,

wow, a world without any darkness. how beautiful was that?


someday, i would understand my father. someday he would tell me who he was. someday. i hated that word.


i wondered what that was like, to hold someone’s hand. i bet you could sometimes find all of the mysteries of the universe in someone’s hand.


“are you mad at me?”

“a little.”

he sat back down on his bed. he looked sad. i didn’t like seeing him that way. “i’m more mad at myself,” i said. “i always let you talk me into things. it’s not your fault.”

“yeah,” he whispered.

“don’t cry, okay?”

“okay,” he said.

“you’re crying.”

“i’m not.”




i decided that maybe we left each other alone too much. leaving each other alone was killing us.


i wanted to tell them that i’d never had a friend, not ever, not a real one. until dante. i wanted to tell them that i never knew that people like dante existed in the world, people who looked at the stars. i wanted to tell them that he had changed my life and that i would never be the same, not ever. i wanted to tell them that he was the first human being who had ever made me want to talk about the things that scared me.


how could i have ever been ashamed of loving dante quintana?




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