Between a 3 and a 4 on this. The middle dragged. I wish the details of the life at the end were longer and more in depth.

Need to reflect more and come back to this review.

"What was your endgame?" I asked him once, years later.
"To wait until I could move away," he said. "And then go somewhere where no one would know me."
Which he did. Wich we both did. -pg 29

I had been studying literature for almost three years at that point. I had read about the Bloomsbury Group, and Paris in the 1920s. But despite all that I was blind to the emergence of a scene when it was happening right in front of me. I never considered that the bands I saw, the things we wore or the people we slept with were the edges of a larger circumference, the makings of a circle. I suppose it's because none of them ever became famous. Or never stayed famous. Maybe fame is what confers importance, and not, as my essays for college would suggest, the other way around. -pg 67-68

I didn't know who I was trying to impress. I did not want a boyfriend; I did want romance. I wanted passion; I did not want to be someone who was known as easy. I was desperate to be touched; I was terrified of being ruined. -pg 75

When we had sex I could taste the day on him. I walked around with my nose in my collar afterwards, catching pockets of his smell on myself. -pg 84

He was a person who did what he wanted, when he wanted, and if you weren't directly in his eyeline you became part of the smoky ether. -pg 86

He was mad about me, too, in the moments he remembered I existed. -pg 127

"Don't you understand how condescending it is," he said, "for someone you love not to tell you about the biggest thing happening in their life, because they don't want to bother you? Because they think you can't handle it?" -pg 233